THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

MAR  2      1925 


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THE    SCHOOLMASTER 


LITERATURE 


CONTAINING    SELECTIONS    FEOM    THE    WRITINGS    OF    ASCHAM, 

MOLIERE,     FULLER,    ROUSSEAU,    SHENSTONE,     COWPER, 

GOETHE,  PESTALOZZI,  PAGE,    MITFORD,    BRONTE", 

HUGHES,    DICKENS,   THACKERAY,  IRVING, 

GEORGE      ELIOT,      EGGLESTON, 

THOMPSON,    AND    OTHERS 


BT 


HUBERT    M.  SKINNER,  A.M. 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

EDWARD    EGGLESTON 


NEW  YORK  •:•  CINCINNATI  •:•  CHICAGO 

AMEKICAN     BOOK    COMPANY 
NUV  1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY 
AMERICAN   BOOK  COMPANY 


printeS   by 

tUiUfam  tlvison 

•Hew  B?orh,  in.  S. ». 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION g 

Roger  Ascham 13 

Extracts  from  Toxophilus      ....  15 

Extracts  from  the  Scholemaster    ....  18 

Quick's  Adaptation  from  the  Scholemaster  .  20 

^- 

Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  Moliere 25 

The  Education  of  M.  Jourdain 26 

Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 41 

Quick's  Adaptation  and  Summary  of  ^mile 42 

William  Shenstone ,        .  64 

The  Schoolmistress 65 

Thomas  Fuller 74 

The  Good  Schoolmaster 74 

Of  Memory 76 

Johaim  Heinrich  Pestalozzi 78 

Gertrude  at  Home         .         .        . 83 

The  School  in  Bonnal 92 

A  Chapter  from  Christopher  and  Eliza Ill 

William  Cowper 118 

Tirocinium;  or,  a  Review  of  Schools 120 

The  Sage  Called  "  Discipline  " 139 

Johaim  Wolfgang1  von  Goethe ,143 

Selections  from  Wilhelm  Meister's  Wanderjahre 144 

Mary  Russell  Mitford 187 

The  Village  Schoolmistress 188 

Dr.  Courtly's  School ....  199 

Charlotte  Bronte" .  203 

Lowood  School 204 

3 


: 


4  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

David  Perkins  Page .  230 

The  Schoolmaster 232 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray .  242 

Miss  Pinkerton's  School 243 

Dr.  Swish  tail's  Academy 258 

Mr.  Veal's  School .        .  270 

Thomas  Hughes . .      .  278 

Chapters  from  Tom  Brown's  School-Days  at  Rugby      ....  279 

Daniel  Pierce  Thompson 312 

The  School  in  the  Horn  of  the  Moon     ........  818 

The  Examination  at  Mill  Town  Emporium  .        .        .        .  •  :  .        .  336 

Charles  Dickens ,    r      ,    .    .  352 

Dr.  Blimber's  School »        •        .353 

The  School  at  Salem  House 395 

Dr.  Strong's  School ,        ,;       .  422 

Dotheboys  Hall 425 

\/William  Mathews 456 

Judge  Story  as  a  Teacher 457 

George  Eliot 465 

The  Night  School  and  the  Schoolmaster 467 

Tom's  First  Half 472 

Washington  Irving      . 495 

Ichabod  Crane 496 

George  MacDonald 504 

Extracts  from  Malcolm          .........  505 

Edward  Eggleston 551 

A  Struggle  for  the  Mastery 552 

Some  Western  Schoolmasters 556 

D'Arcy  Wentworth  Thompson      .               570 

Day-Dreams  of  a  Schoolmaster 571 


INTRODUCTION 

IT  is  my  office  only  to  stand  in  the  portico  and  open  the  door 
of  the  present  edifice,  which  has  been  builded  right  skillfully 
by  another.  If  the  delight  of  the  intelligent  reader  were  the 
only  purpose  in  view,  hardly  anything  could  be  better  than  such 
a  compilation  as  the  present  one,  showing  the  part  played  by 
the  schoolmaster  in  the  literature  of  diverse  ages  and  of  differ- 
ent nations.  It  is  quite  worth  while,  for  example,  to  take  the 
ideal  of  a  good  schoolmaster  constructed  by  quaint  old  Thomas 
Fuller  and  put  it  alongside  the  Blimbers,  and  to  place  Shen- 
stone's  village  school, 

"where  sits  the  dame  disguised  in  look  profound, 
And  eyes  her  fairy  throng,  and  turns  her  wheel  around," 

in  juxtaposition  with  the  immaculate  Miss  Pinkerton's  most 
respectable  seat  of  learning  on  Chiswick  Mall,  or  with  quaint 
old  Bartle  Massey's  night  school  for  full-grown  men.  Here  we 
have  the  schoolmaster  under  many  lights,  and  literature  in 
widely  varying  moods.  As  a  means  of  cultivating  a  taste  for 
literature  and  a  discriminating  taste  in  literature,  I  know  of  no 
better  collection  than  this,  particularly  for  the  use  of  teachers, 
whose  relish  is  certain  to  be  quickened  by  professional  interest 
in  the  subject. 

But  literary  interest  and  literary  culture  are  by  no  means  the 
only  ends  served  by  such  a  collation  of  representative  delinea- 
tions of  the .  schoolmaster.  Some  phases  of  truth  are  not  easily 
communicated  in  didactic  form ;  they  are  seen  best  in  the  deli- 
cate shading  of  artistic  literature.  This  is  what  Charles  Lamb 

5 


6  INTRODUCTION 

calls  the  "  twilight  of  truth."  Perhaps  Dickens's  Dr.  Blimber, 
with  his  everlasting  iteration  of  "  Bring  him  on,  Cornelia,  bring 
him  on,"  has  done  more  than  the  soberest  treatises  on  peda- 
gogy to  discourage  the  ancient  mode  of  education  by  cramming 
— the  only  sort  of  infanticide  permitted  in  civilized  countries. 
A  whole  board  of  education  of  the  unprogressive  sort,  once  so 
common,  seems  to  be  wrapped  up  in  Dr.  Blimber,  with  his 
stolid  ignorance  of  the  higher  uses  of  learning  and  his  stupid 
demand  for  a  visible  "  bringing  on  "  of  the  poor  little  Dombey. 
Cornelia  Blimber  is  but  the  conductor  through  which  Dr.  Blim- 
ber works  his  "  bringing  on,"  propelled  as  many  another  teacher 
has  found  herself  propelled  by  the  force  behind  her  to  push 
those  who  ought  not  to  be  pushed.  But  behind  the  unintelli- 
gent board  of  Blimbers  are  innumerable  other  Blimbers  in  the 
unintelligent  parents,  who  als.o  demand  that  Cornelia  shall 
"  bring  him  on." 

The  maker  of  this  collection  has  sought  by  means  of  literary 
cross-lights  to  give  the  teacher,  not  direct  instruction  in  method, 
but  something  quite  as  valuable.  Here  the  schoolmaster  sees 
his  profession  in  the  light  of  literary  culture  and  literary  art, 
and,  in  some  cases,  he  sees  it  illuminated  by  the  light  of  genius. 
From  such  treatment  of  the  subject  the  teacher  gains  broader 
views  of  his  calling  in  its  relation  to  life.  This  enlightenment 
is  quite  as  necessary  as  special  instruction  to  produce  the  real 
teacher.  The  real  teacher  is  in  turn  the  very  leaven  that 
leavens  the  whole  lump  of  modern  civilization. 

An  estimable  gentleman  said  to  me  recently,  "In  all  my 
life  at  school  it  was  my  misfortune  not  to  encounter  one  real 
teacher."  I  was  not  surprised  at  the  tone  of  regret  in  which 
this  was  spoken.  But  the  man  who  has  been  so  unhappy  as 
never,  during  his  period  of  plasticity,  to  have  fallen  into  the 


INTRODUCTION  7 

shaping  hands  of  a  real  teacher,  is  hardly  capable  of  estimat- 
ing the  extent  of  his  irreparable  loss. 

The  real  teacher  is  by  no  means  a  modern  invention.  One 
cannot  be  sure  that  we  have  now  a  larger  proportion  of  men 
and  women  answering  that  description  than  there  were  centuries 
ago.  The  good  and  great  Moravian  brother  Comenius,  with  his 
admirable  spirit  and  methods,  lived  away  back  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  And  was  Roger  Ascham  the  only  good  English 
"  Scholemaster  "  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ?  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  we  know  better  than  the  generality  of  old  mas- 
ters what  to  teach,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  indeed  if,  with  all 
our  philosophizing  and  experimenting,  with  all  our  normal 
schooling  and  our  teachers'  institutes  innumerable,  we  had  not 
found  out  some  things  about  method  that  our  forefathers  did 
not  know.  It  is  even  possible  that  we  have  put  too  much  stress 
upon  methods  of  instruction,  and  that  in  our  conceit  of  system 
we  have  hardly  left  standing  space  for  the  living  teacher. 
The  individuality  of  the  real  teacher  sometimes  unfits  him  to 
serve  well  as  a  cog-wheel  in  the  clock-work  of  a  complicated 
school  system.  His  very  originality  is  sometimes  laid  against 
him  for  a  fault  by  the  austere  method-ist  in  pedagogy. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  affirm  that  we  can  count  fewer  real 
teachers  in  the  hundred  now  than  there  were  formerly.  That 
would  be  to  deny  that  we  have  made  any  real  progress,  for  the 
best  school  systems  and  the  most  admirable  of  teaching  methods 
would  be  a  thousand  times  worse  than  useless  if  they  should 
render  the  production  of  real  teachers  impossible.  But  we  may 
have  exaggerated  the  relative  importance  of  method  in  teaching. 
There  are  signs  that  we  are  entering  on  a  new  epoch,  in  which 
men  will  count  for  more  than  prescribed  methods,  and  in  which 
the  production  of  genuine  teachers  will  be  the  objective. 


8  INTRODUCTION 

Do  not  expect  me  to  define  the  term.  The  best  things  elude 
definition.  Words  are  not  subtle  enough  to  describe  things 
that  are  priceless.  If  I  were  to  say  that  the  real  teacher  is 
devoted  to  his  work,  manifests  a  lively  and  intelligent  sympathy 
with  his  pupils,  evinces  tact  in  management  and  ingenuity  in 
conveying  information,  and  has  the  sort  of  enthusiasm  that 
gives  him  a  momentum  communicable  to  those  under  his  care, 
I  should  have  enumerated  enough  of  his  qualities  to  enable  one 
to  classify  him.  But  how  far  short  of  filling  the  measure  of 
his  description  is  this  list  of  qualities.  Put  these  things  to- 
gether, and  you  will  still  have  something  less  than  the  man. 

This  is  partly  because  men  and  women  who  are  capable  of 
shaping  others  have  something  about  them  that  cannot  be  set 
down  in  a  catalogue.  A  lady  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that 
while  qualities  were  valuable,  quality  was  something  much 
greater.  A  good  expression  of  a  profound  truth !  Count  the 
standard  virtues  on  your  fingers,  and  you  can  recall  estimable 
people  who  possess  them  all,  but  who,  nevertheless,  do  not  go 
for  much.  That  which  my  friend  called  quality — that  some- 
thing blending  all  these  qualities  into  one  harmonious  and 
potent  whole,  is  lacking.  You  do  not  think  of  the  qualities  of 
a  man  like  Arnold  of  Rugby,  or  of  a  man  like  the  revered  but 
unfortunate  Pestalozzi.  One  could  not  pick  either  the  one  or 
the  other  to  pieces,  and  make  any  recognizable  catalogue  of  his 
parts.  There  is  an  integrity,  a  wholeness  about  the  efficient 
man  or  woman  of  any  sort,  that  defies  analysis. 

The  test  of  the  teacher  is  efficiency.  Not  the  showing  he  is 
able  to  make  in  an  examination,  but  the  final  result  he  can 
produce  in  the  character  of  those  who  come  from  under  his 
hand.  This  efficiency  is  not  of  the  sort  that  can  be  counted 
upon  always  to  work  an  increase  of  salary.  But  the  ability  to 


INTRODUCTION 

leave  a  lasting  mark  on  the  mind  and  character  of  a  pupil,  is 
the  unmistakable  sign  of  the  real  teacher.  And  the  source  of 
this  power  lies  not  in  the  teacher's  acquirements,  but  deeper  in 
the  very  fiber  of  his  character.  "  Words  have  weight,  when 
there  is  a  man  behind  them,"  said  the  prophet  of  Concord.  It 
is  the  man  or  woman  behind  the  instruction  that  makes  the 
real  teacher  a  great  deal  more  than  a  mere  instructor. 

Examinations  for  license  to  teach  do  not  get  at  what  is  most 
valuable  in  the  teacher.  A  touch  of  mental  enlightenment, 
or  the  possession  of  the  least  bit  of  the  real  teaching  quality 
is  worth  more  than  expertness  in  extracting  cube-roots.  Un- 
happily we  have  no  means  of  measuring  character  with  pre- 
cision, no  accurate  test  for  a  teacher's  aptitude.  The  owner  of  a 
creamery  buys  all  his  milk  by  the  gallon.  He  pays  at  the 
same  rate  for  the  thinnest  sky-tinted  product  that  he  does  for 
the  butter-laden  contribution  of  a  Jersey  herd.  I  went  through 
an  exhibition  of  dairy  appliances  recently,  and  was  interested 
most  of  all  in  a  method  newly  devised  for  testing  the  butter- 
making  qualities  of  milk.  By  the  addition  of  an  acid  to  a 
sample  of  milk,  the  butter  oils  were  made  to  rise  to  the  surface 
in  a  little  bottle  with  a  slender  neck,  graded  like  a  ther- 
mometer. You  can  read  on  the  scale  the  quality  of  the  milk 
expressed  in  millimeters.  But  we  measure  the  qualifications  of 
our  teachers  in  the  old-fashioned  way;  we  buy  their  grammar' 
and  arithmetic  by  the  gallon.  It  is  a  question  of  quantity. 
"  How  much  of  each  branch  of  study  are  you  loaded  up  with  ?  " 
demands  the  examiner.  Now  there  are  some  experts  in  gram- 
mar and  arithmetic  who  have  no  power  to  communicate  even 
their  technical  knowledge  to  the  pupil.  How  much  less  can 
they  perform  any  of  those  higher  services  that  the  real  teacher 
renders  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  a  pupil!  Shall  we  ever 


10  INTRODUCTION 

devise  a  delicate  scale  for  gauging  the  quality  that  gives  the 
better  teacher  his  superiority  ? 

"  Born,  not  made,"  is  true  of  the  great  teacher  as  of  the  great 
man  of  every  sort.  But  it  is  not  with  the  great  schoolmaster 
that  we  have  to  do.  A  man  may  be  real  without  being  great, 
and  it  can  do  no  harm  to  fix  the  attention  of  the  teacher  of 
average  gifts  on  this  ideal  of  genuineness.  Every  man  and 
woman  is  to  be  accounted  a  real  teacher  who  establishes  a  vital 
relation  between  himself  and  the  developing  pupil ;  who  is,  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent,  a  living  force  in  the  formation  of  charac- 
ter and  the  enlargement  of  mind.  In  this  class  the  mere  hearer 
of  recitations  and  keeper  of  grade  marks  has  no  place  whatever. 

Real  teachers  are  of  various  magnitudes,  and  the  humblest 
mistress  of  a  country  school,  who  manages  to  inspire  her  pupils 
with  a  thirst  for  knowledge  and  an  aspiration  for  veracity  in 
character  is  in  the  class  of  real  teachers  as  truly  as  Socrates, 
the  first  great  professor  of  the  divine  art  of  molding  youthful 
character  and  pushing  the  human  mind  in  the  direction  of 
truth.  Blessed  be  the  humble  teacher  who,  without  any  chance 
for  the  great  rewards  of  fame  or  money,  renders  noble  service 
and  leaves  the  impress  of  a  genuine  and  generous  character  in 
one  little  corner  of  the  world.  No  cyclopaedia  or  dictionary  of 
notables  ever  mentions  that  wonderful  old  Pennsylvania  Dutch- 
man, Christopher  Dock.  But,  in  the  obscurity  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania back  country  in  the  last  century,  he  did  some  of  the 
noblest  and  most  enlightened  teaching  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
He  was  a  schoolmaster,  indeed,  not  a  master  of  the  school  in  any 
merely  outward  sense,  but  master  of  the  very  souls  of  his  rustic 
pupils. 

Even  of  the  humblest  real  teacher  the  words  of  Fuller  are 
true,  perhaps :  "  His  genius  inclines  him  with  delight  to  the 


INTRODUCTION  11 

profession."  I  should  despair  of  the  success  of  any  teacher  who 
found  no  ground  of  pleasure  in  the  work.  But  all  such  sources 
of  enlightenment  as  the  present  work  add  greatly  to  the  effi- 
ciency of  the  teacher.  They  make  the  light  places  in  the 
teacher's  work  brighter,  and  shed  some  rays  of  illuminating 
humor  and  fancy  upon  the  darker  parts. 

The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  the  only  good  thing  that 
cometh  without  observation.  Great  movements  rarely  make 
much  stir  at  the  outset.  It  is  only  by  the  harvest  that  we  are 
able  to  measure  the  value  of  the  seed-time.  I  suppose  that 
this  book  had  its  origin  in  the  Teachers'  Reading  Circles,  which 
are  one  of  "  the  new  things  under  the  sun."  I  do  not  know  any 
better  new  fashion  in  these  last  years  of  a  great  century  than 
the  reading  circles.  Certain  obscure  religious  and  reformatory 
societies  that  came  into  being  in  England,  nobody  knows  how,  as 
the  Seventeenth  Century  drew  to  its  end,  proved  to  be  the  very 
germs  of  some  of  the  greatest  movements  that  characterized  the 
Eighteenth  Century.  Just  now,  as  the  Nineteenth  Century  is 
handing  over  the  legacy  of  our  age  to  the  next,  the  public 
interested  in  education  has  come  suddenly  to  realize  that  the 
culture  of  the  teacher  must  be  progressive.  Perhaps  in  the 
Twentieth  Century  schoolmasters  will  no  longer  be  accused  of 
having  minds  rendered  dry  and  uninteresting  by  unbroken 
contact  with  undeveloped  intellects,  and  by  a  ceaseless  repetition 
of  the  same  instruction.  The  true  antidote  to  what  may  be 
called  the  teacher's  palsy  is  a  constant  acquisition  of  fresh 
knowledge  or  a  continual  whetting  of  the  mental  appetite  by 
means  of  good  literature.  I  know  of  no  other  means  by  which 
may  be  acquired  and  retained  that  perennial  freshness  of  mind 
so  necessary  to  success  in  teaching. 

On  one  point  the  greatest  masters  are  agreed — that  knowledge 


12  INTRODUCTION 

should  be  given  in  cheerful  and  delightful  ways.  Comenius  so 
long  ago  as  the  Sixteenth  Century  insisted  upon  a  cheerful 
environment,  a  pleasant  schoolroom,  and  cheerful  objects  in 
association  with  study.  And  his  contemporary,  Ascham,  had  a 
similar  notion ;  he  would  have  learning  "  mingled  with  honest 
mirth  and  comely  exercises."  Long  afterward,  Pestalozzi  went 
deeper,  and  sought  to  make  the  very  exercises  of  learning  agree- 
able by  having  them  accord'^witt  the  child's  nature,  and  not 
cross  it.  His  pupil,  Froebel,  even  sought  with  ingenuity  to 
bring  to  his  aid  child-plays,  dancing,  and  music.  All  the  mas- 
ters, however  they  may  have  differed  as  to  the  means,  agreed  in 
desiring  to  make  learning  delightful,  in  trying  to  rob  school 
toil  of  its  irksomeness.  I  may  venture  to  suggest  that  good  as 
was  Comenius's  notion  of  a  cheerful  schoolroom,  Ascham's  alloy 
of  honest  mirth  and  come  y  exercises,  and  Froebel's  ingenious 
play-work,  there  is  one  means  of  rendering  the  pursuit  of 
study  delightful  that  transcends  all  of  these.  That  is  fresh- 
mindedness  in  the  teacher.  The  master  whose  mind  is  re- 
freshed by  his  own  delight  in  literature,  whose  zest  for  fresh 
knowledge  remains  keen,  will  do  more  than  all  else  to  render 
the  pathway  of  the  industrious  pupil  delightsome. 

If,  then,  the  Teachers'  Eeading  Circles  are  to  give  us  circles  of 
reading  teachers,  hail  to  that  which  will  do  much  to  deliver  us 
from  the  dry  teacher  and  from  insipid  teaching ! 

But  if  literature  be  so  good  a  thing,  why  do  I  stand  so  long 
in  the  gap,  and  detain  the  wistful  reader  from  the  green  pas- 
tures that  lie  beyond  ?  To  borrow  a  stock  phrase  from  the  old 
playwrights,  "  Masters,  let  us  within." 

EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 


THE 

SCHOOLMASTER  IN  LITERATURE 


ROGER    ASCHAM 

1515-1568 

ROGER  ASCHAM  was  born  in  1515,  and  took  his  degree  at  the  univer- 
sity of  Cambridge  at  the  age  of  nineteen.  That  he  was  preeminently 
skilled  in  the  Greek  language  is  evident  from  the  fact  that,  a  few 
years  after  he  left  the  university,  he  was  invited  by  Sir  John  Cheke  to 
become  preceptor  in  the  learned  languages  to  Elizabeth,  which  office 
he  discharged  for  two  years  with  great  credit  and  satisfaction  to  him- 
self, as  well  as  to  his  illustrious  pupil.  Soon  after  this  he  went  abroad, 
and  remained  about  three  years  in  Germany.  On  his  return,  he  was 
selected  to  fill  the  office  of  Latin  secretary  to  Edward  VI.,  but  on  the 
death  of  the  king  he  returned  to  the  university.  On  the  accession  of 
Elizabeth,  he  was  immediately  distinguished,  and  read  with  the  queen 
some  hours  every  day  in  the  Latin  and  Greek  languages.  In  this 
office,  and  in  that  of  Latin  secretary,  he  continued  at  court  for  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  He  died  in  1568,  at  the  age  of  fifty  -three. 

Characterization 

It  would  perhaps  have  surprised  Roger  Ascham,  the  scholar  of  a 
learned  age,  and  a  Greek  professor,  that  the  history  of  English  litera- 
ture might  open  with  his  name  ;  for  in  his  English  writings  he  had 
formed  no  premeditated  work  designed  for  posterity  as  well  as  his  own 
times.  The  subjects  he  has  written  on  were  solely  suggested  by  the 
occasion,  and  incurred  the  slight  of  the  cavilers  of  his  day,  who  had 
not  yet  learned  that  humble  titles  may  conceal  performances  which 
exceed  their  promise,  and  that  trifles  cease  to  be  trivial  in  the  work- 
manship of  genius.  An  apology  for  a  favorite  recreation,  that  of 
archery,  for  his  indulgence  in  which  his  enemies,  and  sometimes  his 

13 


14  ROGER  ASCHAM 

friends,  reproached  the  truant  of  academic  Greek ;  an  account  of 
affairs  of  Germany,  while  employed  as  secretary  to  the  English 
embassy  ;  and  the  posthumous  treatise  of  the  "  Scholemaster,"  origi- 
nating in  an  accidental  conversation  at  table — constitute  the  whole  of 
the  claims  of  Ascham  to  the  rank  of  an  English  classic,  a  degree  much 
higher  than  was  obtained  by  the  learning  of  Sir  Thomas  Elyot  and  the 
genius  of  Sir  Thomas  More 

The  mind  of  Ascham  was  stored  with  all  the  wealth  of  ancient  litera- 
ture the  nation  possessed.  Ascham  was  proud,  when  alluding  to  his 
master,  the  learned  Cheke,  and  to  his  royal  pupil,  Queen  Elizabeth,  of 
having  been  the  pupil  of  the  greatest  scholar,  and  a  preceptor  to  the 
greatest  pupil  in  England  ;  but  we  have  rather  to  admire  the  intrepid- 
ity of  his  genius  which  induced  him  to  avow  the  noble  design  of  set- 
ting an  example  of  composing  in  our  vernacular  idiom.  He  tells  us 
in  his  "Toxophilus,"  "  I  write  this  English  matter  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, for  Englishmen."  He  introduced  an  easy  and  natural  style  in 
English  prose,  instead  of  the  pedantry  of  the  unformed  taste  of  his 
day,  and  adopted,  as  he  tells  us,  the  counsel  of  Aristotle,  "to  speak  as 
the  common  people  do,  to  think  as  the  wise  men  do." 

"The  Scholemaster,"  with  its  humble  title,  "to  teach  children  to 
understand,  write,  and  speak  the  Latin  tongue,"  conveys  an  erroneous 
notion  of  the  delight  and  the  knowledge  which  may  be  drawn  from 
this  treatise,  notwithstanding  that  the  work  remains  incomplete,  for 
there  are  references  to  parts  which  do  not  appear  in  the  work  itself. 
"The  Scholemaster"  is  a  classical  production  in  English,  which  may 
be  placed  by  the  side  of  its  great  Latin  rivals,  the  Orations  of  Cicero  and 
the  Institutes  of  Quintilian.  It  is  enlivened  by  interesting  details.  The 
first  idea  of  the  work  was  started  in  a  real  conversation  at  table,  among 
some  eminent  personages,  on  occasion  of  the  flight  of  some  scholars 
from  Eton  College,  driven  away  by  the  iron  rod  of  the  master.  "  Was 
the  school-house  to  be  a  house  of  bondage  and  fear,  or  a  house  of  play 
and  pleasure  ? "  During  the  progress  of  the  work  the  author  lost  his 
patron  and  incurred  other  disappointments.  He  has  consigned  all  his 
variable  emotions  to  this  volume.  The  accidental  interview  with  Lady 
Jane  Grey  ;  his  readings  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  their  daily  inter- 
course with  the  fine  writers  of  antiquity,  and  their  recreations  at  the 
regal  game  of  chess — for  such  was  the  seduction  of  Attic  learning,  that 
the  queen  on  the  throne  felt  a  happiness  in  again  becoming  a  pupil  of 
her  old  master — these  and  similar  instances  present  those  individual 
touches  of  the  writer  which  give  such  a  reality  to  an  author's  feel- 
ings. 

The  works  of  Ascham,  which  are  collected  in  a  single  volume, 
remain  for  the  gratification  of  those  who  preserve  a  pure  taste  for  the 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "  TOXOPHILUS"  15 

pristine  simplicity  of  our  ancient  writers.  His  native  English,  that 
English  which  we  have  lost,  but  which  we  are  ever  delighted  to  recover 
after  nearly  three  centuries,  is  still  critical  without  pedantry,  and  beau- 
tiful without  ornament  ;  and  (which  cannot  be  said  of  the  writings  of 
Sir  Thomas  Elyot  and  Sir  Thomas  More)  the  volume  of  Ascham  is 
indispensable  in  every  English  library  whose  possessor  in  any  way 
aspires  to  connect  together  the  progress  of  taste  and  of  opinion  in  our 
country.  ISAAC  D'ISRAELI. 

The  "  Toxophilus  " '  is,  as  its  name  imports,  a  treatise  upon  archery; 
and  the  main  design  of  Ascham  in  writing  it  was  to  apologize  for  the 
zeal  with  which  he  studied  and  practiced  the  art  of  shooting,  and  to 
show  the  honor  and  dignity  of  the  art  in  all  nations  and  at  all  times, 
and  its  acknowledged  utility  not  only  in  matters  of  war,  but  as  an  inno- 
cent and  engaging  pastime  in  times  of  peace.  The  whole  work  is  in 
the  dialogue  form,  the  speakers  being  Toxophilus,  a  lover  of  archery, 
and  Philologus,  a  student. 

The  work  goes  fully  into  the  practical  part  of  the  art,  so  that  the 
"  Schole  for  Shootinge"  is  a  complete  manual  of  archery,  containing 
not  only  a  learned  history  of  the  art,  and  the  highest  encomiums  on  its 
excellence  and  utility,  but  likewise  the  most  minute  practical  details, 
even  down  to  the  species  of  goose  from  the  wing  of  which  the  best 
feathers  are  to  be  plucked  for  the  shaft. 

CHARLES  D.  CLEVELAND. 

Extracts  from  "Toxophilus" 

1.  THE  VALUE  OF  RECREATION 

PHILOLOGUS.  How  much  is  to  be  given  to  the  authority 
either  of  Aristotle  or  Tullya  I  cannot  tell;  this  I  am  sure, 
which  thing  this  fair  wheat  (God  save  it)  maketh  me  remember, 
that  those  husbandmen  which  rise  earliest,  and  come  latest 
home,  and  are  content  to  have  their  dinner  and  other  drinkings 
brought  into  the  field  to  them,  for  fear  of  losing  of  time,  have 
fatter  barns  in  harvest  than  they  which  will  either  sleep  at 
noon-time  of  the  day,  or  else  make  merry  with  their  neighbors 

1  Prom  toxon  (TOC.OV),  a  bow,  and  philos  (<pzAos),  a  friend.     The  original 
title  runs  thus  :  "Toxophilus,  the  Schole  of  Shootinge,  conteyned  in  II  Bookes. 
To  all  Gentlemen  and  Yomen  of  Englande,  pleasaunte  for  theyr  pastyme  to 
rede,  and  profitable  for  theyr  use  to  follow  ;  both  in  War  and  Peace." 

2  Cicero 


16  ROGER  ASCHAM 

at  the  ale.  And  so  a  scholar  that  purposeth  to  be  a  good  hus- 
band,1 and  desireth  to  reap  and  enjoy  much  fruit  of  learning, 
must  till  and  sow  thereafter.  Our  best  seed  time,  which  be 
scholars,  as  it  is  very  timely  and  when  we  be  young,  so  it 
endureth  not  over  long,  and  therefore  it  may  not  be  let  slip 
one  hour. 

TOXOPHILUS.  For  contrariwise,  I  heard  myself  a  good  hus- 
band at  his  book  once  say,  that  to  omit  study  some  time  of  the 
day,  and  some  time  of  the  year,  made  as  much  for  the  increase 
of  learning,  as  to  let  the  land  lie  some  time  fallow  maketh  for 
the  better  increase  of  corn.  This  we  see,  if  the  land  be 
ploughed  every  year,  the  corn  cometh  thin  up ;  the  ear  is  short, 
the  grain  is  small,  and  when  it  is  brought  into  the  barn  and 
threshed,  giveth  very  evil  fall. 2  So  those  who  never  leave 
poring  on  their  books  have  oftentimes  as  thin  invention  as 
other  poor  men  have,  and  as  small  wit  and  weight  in  it  as  in 
other  men's.  And  thus  your  husbandry,  methinks,  is  more  like 
the  life  of  a  covetous  snudge  tnat  oft  very  evil  proves,  than  the 
labor  of  a  good  husband,  that  knoweth  well  what  he  doth. 
And  surely  the  best  wits  to  learning  must  needs  have  much 
recreation  and  ceasing  from  their  book,  or  else  they  mar  them- 
selves ;  when  base  and  dumpish  wits  can  never  be  hurt  with 
continual  study;  as  ye  see  in  luting,  that  a  treble  minikin 
string  must  always  be  let  down,  but  at  such  time  as  when  a 
man  must  needs  play,  when 3  the  base  and  dull  string  needeth 
never  to  be  moved  out  of  his  place. 

2.  IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  GOOSE 

TOXOPHILUS.  Yet  well  fare  the  gentle  goose,  which  bringeth 
to  a  man  so  many  exceeding  commodities !  For  the  goose  is 
man's  comfort  in  war  and  in  peace,  sleeping  and  waking. 
What  praise  soever  is  given  to  shooting,  the  goose  may  challenge 
the  best  part  of  it.  How  well  doth  she  make  a  man  fare  at  his  table  ! 
How  easily  doth  she  make  a  man  lie  in  his  bed !  How  fit,  even 
as  her  feathers  be  only  for  shooting,  so  be  her  quills  for  writing. 
1  husbandman  •  produce  *  whereas 


EXTRACTS  FROM  TOXOPHILUS  17 

PHILOLOGUS.  Indeed,  Toxophile,  that  is  the  best  praise  you 
gave  to  a  goose  yet,  and  surely  I  would  have  said  you  had  been 
to.  blame  if  you  had  overskipt  it. 

TOXOPHILUS.  The  Romans,  I  trow,  Philologe,  not  so  much 
because  a  goose  with  crying  saved  their  capitolium,  with  their 
golden  Jupiter  did  make  a  golden  goose,  and  set  her  in  the  top 
of  the  capitolium,  and  appointed  also  the  censors  to  allow,  out 
of  the  common  batch,  yearly  stipends  for  the  finding  of  certain 
geese  ;  the  Romans  did  not,  I  say,  give  all  this  honor  to  a  goose 
for  that  good  deed  only,  but  for  other  infinite  mo,  l  which  come 
daily  to  a  man  by  geese  ;  and  surely  if  I  should  declaim  in  the 
praise  of  any  manner  of  beast  living,  I  would  choose  a  goose. 
But  the  goose  hath  made  us  flee  too  far  from  our  matter. 

3.  His  APOLOGY  FOR  WRITING  IN  ENGLISH 

If  any  man  would  blame  me  either  for  taking  such  a  matter 
in  hand,  or  else  for  writing  it  in  the  English  tongue,  this 
answer  I  may  make  him,  that  when  the  best  of  the  realm  think 
it  honest  for  them  to  use,  I,  one  of  the  meanest  sort,  ought  not 
to  suppose  it  vile  for  me  to  write  :  and  though  to  have  written 
it  in  another  tongue  had  been  both  more  profitable  for  my 
study,  and  also  more  honest  for  my  name,  yet  I  can  think  my 
labor  well  bestowed,  if  with  a  little  hinderance  of  my  profit 
and  name  may  come  any  furtherance  to  the  pleasure  or  com- 
modity of  the  gentlemen  and  yeomen  of  England,  for  whose 
sake  I  took  this  matter  in  hand.  And  as  for  the  Latin  or  Greek 
tongue,  everything  is  so  excellently  done  in  them,  that  none 
can  do  better  ;  in  the  English  tongue,  contrary,  everything  in 
a  manner  so  meanly,  both  for  the  matter  and  handling,  that  no 
man  can  do  worse.  For  therein  the  least  learned,  for  the  most 
part,  have  been  always  most  ready  to  write.  And  they  which 
had  least  hope  in  Latin  have  been  most  bold  in  English  :  when 
surely  every  man  that  is  most  ready  to  talk  is  not  most  able  to 
write.  He  that  will  write  well  in  any  tongue,  must  follow  this 
counsel  of  Aristotle,  to  speak  as  the  common  people  do,  to  think 


.—  a 


18  ROGER  AS  CHAM 

as  wise  men  do :  as  so  should  every  man  understand  him,  and 
the  judgment  of  wise  men  allow  him.  Many  English  writers 
have  not  done  so,  but,  using  strange  words,  as  Latin,  French,  and 
Italian,  do  make  all  things  dark  and  hard.  Once  I  communed 
with  a  man  which  reasoned  the  English  tongue  to  be  enriched 
and  increased  thereby,  saying,  "  Who  will  not  praise  that  feast 
where  a  man  shall  drink  at  a  dinner  both  wine,  ale,  and  beer  ? " 
"  Truly  (quoth  I)  they  be  all  good,  every  one  taken  by  himself 
alone,  but  if  you  put  malmsey  and  sack,  red  wine  and  white,  ale 
and  beer,  and  all  in  one  pot,  you  shall  make  a  drink  neither 
easy  to  be  known,  nor  yet  wholesome  for  the  body." 


Extracts   from   the    "  Scholemaster" 
1.  INTERMIXTURE  OF  STUDY  AND  EXERCISE 

I  would  wish,  that  beside  some  good  time,  fitly  appointed, 
and  constantly  kept,  to  increase  by  reading  the  knowledge  of  the 
tongues,  and  learning,  young  gentlemen  should  use,  and  delight 
in  all  courtly  exercises  and  gentlemanlike  pastimes.  And  good 
cause  why :  for  the  self-same  noble  city  of  Athens,  justly  com- 
mended of  me  before,  did  wisely,  and  upon  great  consideration, 
appoint  the  muses,  Apollo  and  Pallas,  to  be  patrons  of  learning 
to  their  youth.  For  the  muses,  besides  learning,  were  also  ladies 
of  dancing,  mirth,  and  minstrelsy :  Apollo  was  god  of  shooting, 
and  author  of  cunning  playing  upon  instruments ;  Pallas  also 
.was  lady  mistress  in  wars.  Whereby  was  nothing  else  meant, 
but  that  learning  should  be  always  mingled  with  honest  mirth 
and  comely  exercises ;  and  that  war  also  should  be  governed  by 
learning  and  moderated  by  wisdom;  as  did  well  appear  in 
those  captains  of  Athens  named  by  me  before,  and  also  in  Scipio 
and  Csesar,  the  two  diamonds  of  Rome.  And  Pallas  was  no 
more  feared  in  wearing  JEgida,  than  she  was  praised  for  choosing 
Olivani ;  whereby  shineth  the  glory  of  learning,  which  thus  was 
governor  and  mistress,  in  the  noble  city  of  Athens,  both  of  war 
and  peace. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE   "  SCHOLEMASTER  "  19 


2.  THE  CONSEQUENCES  OF  NEGLECTED  EDUCATION 

It  is  pity  that,  commonly,  more  care  is  had,  yea,  and  that 
among  very  wise  men,  to  find  out  rather  a  cunning  man  for 
their  horse,  than  a  cunning  man  for  their  children.  They  say 
nay  in  word,  but  they  do  so  in  deed.  For  to  the  one  they  will 
gladly  give  a  stipend  of  two  hundred  crowns  by  year,  and  loath 
to  offer  to  the  other  two  hundred  shillings.  God,  that  sitteth  in 
heaven,  laugheth  their  choice  to  scorn,  and  rewardeth  their 
liberality  as  it  should ;  for  he  suffereth  them  to  have  tame  and 
well-ordered  horse,  but  wild  and  unfortunate  children  ;  and, 
therefore,  in  the  end,  they  find  more  pleasure  in  their  horse 
than  comfort  in  their  children. 

3.  DANGERS  OF  FOREIGN  TRAVEL 

I  know  divers  noble  personages,  and  many  worthy  gentlemen 
of  England,  whom  all  the  siren  songs  of  Italy  could  never 
untwine  from  the  mast  of  God's  word  ;  nor  no  enchantment  of 
vanity  overturn  them  from  the  fear  of  God  and  love  of  honesty. 

But  I  know  as  many,  or  mo,  and  some,  sometime  my  dear 
friends  (for  whose  sake  I  hate  going  into  that  country  the 
more),  who,  parting  out  of  England  fervent  in  the  love  of 
Christ's  doctrine,  and  well  furnished  with  the  fear  of  God, 
returned  out  of  Italy  worse  transformed  than  ever  was  any  in 
Circe's  l  court.  I  know  divers,  that  went  out  of  England  men 
of  innocent  life,  men  of  excellent  learning,  who  returned  out  of 
Italy,  not  only  with  worse  manners,  but  also  with  less  learning  ; 
neither  so  willing  to  live  orderly,  nor  yet  so  able  to  speak  learn- 
edly, as  they  were  at  home,  before  they  went  abroad.  .  .  . 

But  I  am  afraid  that  over  many  of  pur  travelers  into  Italy 
do  not  eschew  the  way  to  Circe's  court,  but  go,  and  ride,  and 
run,  and  fly  thither ;  they  make  great  haste  to  come  to  her ; 
they  make  great  suit  to  serve  her ;  yea,  I  could  point  out  some 

1  an  enchantress  of  ancient  fable,  who  first  charmed  her  victims  and  then 
changed  them  to  beasts 


20  ROGER  ASCHAM 

with  my  finger,  that  never  had  gone  out  of  England,  but  only 
to  serve  Circe  in  Italy.  ...  If  you  think  we  judge  amiss, 
and  write  too  sore  against  you,  hear  what  the  Italian  saith  of 
the  Englishman ;  what  the  master  reporteth  of  the  scholar,  who 
uttereth  plainly  what  is  taught  by  him,  and  what  is  learned  by 
you,  saying,  Inglese  Italianato,  &  un  diabolo  incarnato :  that  is  to 
say,  "  you  remain  men  in  shape  and  fashion,  but  become  devils 
in  life  and  condition." 


R.  H.  Quick's  Adaptation  from  the  "Scholemaster" 

If  laudari  a  laudatis1  is  any  test  of  merit,  we  may  assume 
that  this  book  is  still  deserving  of  attention.  "  It  contains,  per- 
haps," says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  the  best  advice  that  was  ever  given 
for  the  study  of  languages."  And  Mr.  J.  E.  B.  Mayor  (no  mean 
authority)  ventures  on  a  still  stronger  assertion.  "This  book 
sets  forth,"  says  he,  "  the  only  sound  method  of  acquiring  a  dead 
language."  Mr.  George  Long  has  also  borne  witness  on  the 
same  side. 

And  yet,  I  believe,  few  teachers  of  the  dead  languages  have 
read  Ascham's  book,  or  know  the  method  he  proposes.  I  will, 
therefore,  give  an  account  of  it,  as  nearly  as  I  can  in  Ascham's 
own  words. 

Latin  is  to  be  taught  as  follows :  First,  let  the  child  learn  the 
eight  parts  of  speech,  and  then  the  right  joining  together  of 
substantives  with  adjectives,  the  noun  with  the  verb,  the  rela- 
tive with  the  antecedent.  After  the  concords  are  learned,  let 
the  master  take  Sturm's  selection  of  Cicero's  Epistles,  and  read 
them  after  this  manner :  "  First,  let  him  teach  the  child,  cheer- 
fully and  plainly,  the  cause  and  matter  of  the  letter ;  then,  let 
him  construe  it  into  English  so  oft  as  the  child  may  easily  carry 
away  the  understanding  of  it;  lastly,  parse  it  over  perfectly. 
This  done,  then  let  the  child  by  and  by  both  construe  and  parse 
it  over  again  ;  so  that  it  may  appear  that  the  child  doubteth  in 
nothing  that  his  master  has  taught  him  before. 

1  to  be  praised  by  those  who  are  themselves  praised 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  FROM  THE  "  SCHOLEMASTER »     21 

"  After  this,  the  child  must  take  a  paper  book,  and  sitting  in 
some  place  where  no  man  shall  prompt  him,  by  himself  let 
him  translate  into  English  his  former  lesson.  Then  showing 
it  to  his  master,  let  the  master  take  from  him  his  Latin  book, 
and  pausing  an  hour  at  the  least,  then  let  the  child  translate 
his  own  English  into  Latin  again  in  another  paper  book. 
When  the  child  bringeth  it  turned  into  Latin,  the  master  must 
compare  it  with  Tully's  book,  and  lay  them  both  together,  and 
where  the  child  doth  well,  praise  him,  where  amiss  point  out 
why  Tully's  use  is  better. 

"  Thus  the  child  will  easily  acquire  a  knowledge  of  grammar, 
and  also  the  ground  of  almost  all  the  rules  that  are  so  busily 
taught  by  the  master,  and  so  hardly  learned  by  the  scholar  in 
all  common  schools." 

"  We  do  not  contemn  rules,  but  we  gladly  teach  rules ;  and 
teach  them  more  plainly,  sensibly,  and  orderly  than  they  be 
commonly  taught  in  common  schools.  For  when  the  master 
shall  compare  Tully's  book  with  the  scholar's  translation,  let  the 
master  at  the  first  lead  and  teach  the  scholar  to  join  the  rules  of 
his  grammar  book  with  the  examples  of  his  present  lesson,  until 
the  scholar  by  himself  be  able  to  fetch  out  of  his  grammar  every 
rule  for  every  example ;  and  let  the  grammar  book  be  ever  in 
the  scholar's  hand,  and  also  used  by  him  as  a  dictionary  for 
every  present  use.  This  is  a  lively  and  perfect  way  of  teaching 
of  rules;  where  the  common  way  used  in  common  schools  to 
read  the  grammar  alone  by  itself  is  tedious  for  the  master, 
hard  for  the  scholar,  cold  and  uncomfortable  for  them  both." 

And  elsewhere  Ascham  says:  "Yea,  I  do  wish  that  all  rules 
for  young  scholars  were  shorter  than  they  be.  For,  without 
doubt,  grammatica1  itself  is  sooner  and  surer  learned  by  exam- 
ples of  good  authors  than  by  the  naked  rules  of  grammarians." 

"As  you  perceive  your  scholar  to  go  better  on  away,  first, 
with  understanding  his  lesson  more  quickly,  with  parsing  more 
readily,  with  translating  more  speedily  and  perfectly  than  he 
was  wont;  after,  give  him  longer  lessons  to  translate,  and, 

1  Grammar 


22  ROGER  A8CHAM 

withal,  begin  to  teach  him,  both  in  nouns  and  verbs,  what  is 
proprium,1  and  what  is  translatum-  what  synonymum*  what  di- 
versumf  which  be  contraria,5  and  which  be  most  notable  phrases, 
in  all  his  lectures."  ........ 

Every  lesson  is  to  be  thus  carefully  analyzed,  and  entered 
under  these  headings  in  a  third  MS.  book. 

All  this  time,  though  the  boy  is  to  work  over  some  Terence, 
he  is  to  speak  no  Latin.  Subsequently  the  master  must  trans- 
late easy  pieces  from  Cicero  into  English,  and  the  boy,  without 
having  seen  the  original  passage,  is  required  to  put  the  English 
into  Latin.  His  translation  must  then  be  carefully  compared 
with  the  original,  for  "  of  good  heed-taking  springeth  chiefly 
knowledge." 

In  the  Second  Book  of  the  "  Scholemaster,"  Ascham  discusses 
the  various  branches  of  the  study  then  common,  viz. :  1.  Trans- 
latio  linguarum;6  2.  Paraphrasis ;7  3.  Metaphrasis;8  4.  Epitome;9 
5.  Imitatio ; w  6.  Declamatio. u  He  does  not  lay  much  stress  on 
any  of  these,  except  translatio  and  imitatio.  Of  the  last  he  says : 
"All  languages,  both  learned  and  mother-tongue,  be  gotten, 
and  gotten  only  by  imitation.  For,  as  ye  use  to  hear,  so  ye  use 
to  speak ;  if  ye  hear  no  other,  ye  speak  not  yourself;  and  whom 
ye  only  hear,  of  them  ye  only  learn."  But  translation  was  his 
great  instrument  for  all  kinds  of  learning.  "  The  translation," 
he  says,  "  is  the  most  common  and  most  commendable  of  all 
other  exercises  for  youth ;  most  common,  for  all  your  construc- 
tions in  grammar  schools  be  nothing  else  but  translations,  but 
because  they  be  not  double  translations  (as  I  do  require)  they 
bring  forth  but  simple  and  single  commodity;  and  because 
/also  they  lack  the  daily  use  of  writing,  which  is  the  only  thing 
that  breedeth  deep  root,  both  in  the  wit  for  good  understanding 
and  in  the  memory  for  sure  keeping  of  all  that  is  learned; 

1  grammatical  property  7  free  translation 

5  that  which  is  translated  *  verbal  translation 

3  that  which  is  synonymous  *  brief  summary 

4  that  which  is  different  in  meaning  10  imitation 

6  expressions  directly  opposed  in  meaning  "  vocal  rendering 
'  translation  of  languages 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  FROM  THE  " SCHOLEMASTER"     23 

most  commendable  also,  and  that  by  the  judgment  of  all  authors 
which  entreat  of  these  exercises." 

After  quoting  Pliny,  he  says:  "You  perceive  how  Pliny 
teacheth  that  by  this  exercise  of  double  translating  is  learned 
easily,  sensibly,  by  little  and  little,  not  only  all  the  hard 
congruities  of  grammar,  the  choice  of  ablest  words,  the  right 
pronouncing  of  words  and  sentences,  comeliness  of  figures,  and 
forms  fit  for  every  matter  and  proper  for  every  tongue;  but, 
that  which  is  greater  also,  in  marking  daily  and  following 
diligently  thus  the  footsteps  of  the  best  authors,  like  invention 
of  arguments,  like  order  in  disposition,  like  utterance  in  elocu- 
tion, is  easily  gathered  up ;  and  hereby  your  scholar  shall  be 
brought  not  only  to  like  eloquence,  but  also  to  all  true  under- 
standing and  rightful  judgment,  both  for  writing  and  speaking." 

Again  he  says :  "  For  speedy  attaining,  I  durst  venture  a 
good  wager  if  a  scholar  in  whom  is  aptness,  love,  diligence,  and 
constancy,  would  but  translate  after  this  sort,  some  little  book 
in  Tully  (as  '  De  Senectwte,'  with  two  Epistles,  the  first  '  Ad 
Quintum  Fratrem,'  the  other  '  Ad  Lentulum ')  that  scholar,  I  say, 
should  come  to  a  better  knowledge  in  the  Latin  tongue  than 
the  most  part  do  that  spend  from  five  to  six  years  in  tossing  all 
the  rules  of  grammar  in  common  schools."  After  quoting  the 
instance  of  Dion  Prussseus,  who  came  to  great  learning  and  ut- 
terance by  reading  and  following  only  two  books,  the  "Phsedo" 
and  Demosthenes'  "  De  Falsa  Legations"  he  goes  on :  "  And  a 
better  and  nearer  example  herein  may  be  our  most  noble  Queen 
Elizabeth,  who  never  took  yet  Greek  nor  Latin  grammar  in  her 
hand  after  the  first  declining  of  a  noun  and  a  verb ;  but  only 
by  this  double  translating  of  Demosthenes  and  Isocrates  daily, 
without  missing,  every  forenoon,  and  likewise  some  part  of 
Tully  every  afternoon,  for  the  space  of  a  year  or  two,  hath  at- 
tained to  such  a  perfect  understanding  in  both  the  tongues,  and 
to  such  a  ready  utterance  of  the  Latin,  and  that  with  such  a 
judgment,  as  there  be  few  now  in  both  universities  or  elsewhere 
in  England  that  be  in  both  tongues  comparable  with  Her 
Majesty."  Ascham's  authority  is  indeed  not  conclusive  on  this 


24  ROGER  ASCHAM 

point,  as  he,  in  praising  the  queen's  attainments,  was  vaunting 
his  own  success  as  a  teacher,  and,  moreover,  if  he  flattered  her 
he  could  plead  prevailing  custom.  But  we  have,  I  believe, 
abundant  evidence  that  Elizabeth  was  an  accomplished  scholar. 

Before  I  leave  Ascham  I  must  make  one  more  quotation,  to 
which  I  shall  more  than  once  have  occasion  to  refer.  Speaking 
of  the  plan  of  double  translation,  he  says :  "  Ere  the  scholar 
have  construed,  parsed,  twice  translated  over  by  good  advise- 
ment, marked  out  his  six  points  by  skilful  judgment,  he  shall 
have  necessary  occasion  to  read  over  every  lecture  a  dozen  times 
at  the  least;  which  because  he  shall  do  always  in  order,  he  shall 
do  it  always  with  pleasure.  .  .  .  And  pleasure  allureth  love; 
love  hath  lust  to  labor;  labor  always  obtaineth  his  purpose." 

"When  we  compare  Ratich's  method  with  that  of  Ascham,  we 
find  that  they  have  much  in  common.  Ratich  began  the  study 
of  a  language  with  one  book,  which  he  worked  over  with  the 
pupil  a  great  many  times.  Ascham  did  the  same.  Each  lec- 
ture, he  says,  would,  according  to  his  plan,  be  gone  over  a  dozen 
times  at  the  least.  Both  construed  to  the  pupil,  instead  of 
requiring  him  to  make  out  the  sense  for  himself.  Both  taught 
grammar,  not  independently,  but  in  connection  with  the  model 
book.  So  far  as  the  two  methods  differed,  I  have  no  hesitation 
in  pronouncing  Ascham's  the  better.  It  gave  the  pupil  more  to 
do,  and  contained  the  very  important  element,  writing.  By  this 
means  there,  was  a  chance  of  the  interest  of  the  pupil  surviving 
the  constant  repetition,  but  Ratich's  pupils  must  have  been  bored 
to  death.  His  plan  of  making  them  familiar  with  the  transla- 
tion first,  was  subsequently  advocated  by  Comenius,  and  may 
have  advantages,  but  in  effect  the  pupil  would  be  tired  of  the 
play  before  he  began  to  translate  it.  Then  Ratich's  plan  of 
going  through  and  through  seems  very  inferior  to  that  of  thor- 
oughly mastering  one  lesson  before  going  on  to  the  next.  I 
should  say  that  whatever  merit  there  was  in  Ratich's  plan,  lay 
in  its  insisting  on  complete  knowledge  of  a  single  book,  and 
that  this  knowledge  would  be  much  better  attained  by  Ascham's 
practice  of  double  translation. 


JEAN-BAPTISTE    POQUELIN     MOLIERE 

1622-1672 

JEAN-BAPTISTE  POQUELIN  was  born  at  Paris  in  1622.  From  childhood 
he  was  drawn  irresistibly  toward  the  stage.  When  scarcely  more  than 
an  infant,  he  found  his  chief  delight  in  accompanying  his  grandfather 
to  witness  the  plays  of  Corneille,  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne.  Poque- 
lin  was  destined  by  his  parents  for  the  legal  profession.  He  entered 
college,  and  was  an  enthusiastic  and  ambitious  student.  With  great 
self-reliance  he  organized  a  theatrical  company,  when  his  college  days 
were  ended,  and  opened  the  Theatre  lllustre  in  his  native  city.  It  was 
a  mortifying  failure,  and  Poquelin  was  imprisoned  for  debt.  On  re- 
gaining his  freedom  he  disappeared  from  view  at  the  capital.  Twelve 
years  later  he  returned  under  a  new  name — Moliere — destined  to  be 
imperishable  in  letters.  In  the  interval  he  had  learned  much  of  wis- 
dom and  of  the  art  of  the  playwright.  His  star  was  now  in  the 
ascendant.  He  wrote,  in  all,  about  thirty  plays,  nearly  all  of  which 
enjoyed  a  high  measure  of  success. 

His  best  productions  are  "The  Misanthrope"  (Le  Misanthrope), 
"  Learned  Women  "  (Les  Femmes  Savantes),  "  The  Miser  "  (L'Avare), 
and  "  The  Hypocrite"  (Le  Tartufe),  which  are  regarded  as  models  of 
high  comedy.  "The  Shopkeeper  turned  Gentleman"  (Le  Bourgeois) 
is  one  of  his  most  popular  dramas.  Mr.  Charles  Heron  Wall,  the 
translator  of  Moliere,  says  of  this  play :  "  Le  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme 
was  acted  before  the  king  for  the  first  time  at  Cbambord,  on  October 
14,  1670,  and  on  November  23,  at  the  Palais  Royal.  After  the  second 
representation,  Louis  XIV.  said  to  Moliere:  '  You  have  never  written 
anything  which  amused  me  more,  and  your  play  is  excellent.'  But  it 
obtained  a  still  greater  success  in  Paris,  where  the  bourgeois  willingly 
and  good-humoredly  laughed  at  what  they  deemed  their  neighbors' 
weaknesses.  The  first  three  acts  are  the  best;  Louis  XIV.  hurried 
Moliere  so  with  the  last  that  they  degenerated  into  burlesque.  Moliere 
acted  the  part  of  Bourgeois." 

Moliere  died  in  1672. 

Characterization 

Moliere,  the  noblest  heart,  the  most  illustrious  soul,  the  greatest 
writer,  the  grandest  philosopher  of  France,  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  of  the  whole  world  in  all  time;  Moliere,  whose  life  was  so  beauti- 

25 


26  JEAN-BAPTISTE  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

ful,  whose  knowledge  was  so  wide,  whose  benevolence  was  so  deep; 
Moliere,  the  first  literary  man  of  France  who  realized  his  worth,  and 
lived  and  was  enriched  by  his  genius,  has  been  dead  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  yet  he  remains  the  most  youthful,  the  liveliest,  the  truest 
of  the  great  writers  of  France. 

JULES  JANIN. 

Moliere  is  the  most  distinguished  comic  poet  of  modern  times. 
While  he  is  the  complete  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  his  people,  he 
yet  rises,  independent  of  all  prejudices  of  nation  and  age,  to  the 
plane  of  the  true  great  author.  His  bust,  standing  in  the  hall  of  the 
French  Academy,  bears  the  triumphant  inscription : 

"  Rien  ne  manque  a  sa  gloire;  il  manquait  a  la  notre."  } 

PROF.  A.  H.  MIXER. 


The  Education   of  M.  Jourdain 

Scenes  from  "  Le  Bourgeois  " — "  The  Shopkeeper  turned  Gentleman  " 

DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

M.  JOURDAIN,  the  Shop-keeper  turned  Gentleman. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Dancing  Master. 

Fencing  Master. 

Music  Master. 

Servants. 

MADAME  JOURDAIN. 

Nicole,  a  Female  Servant. 

The  Scene  is  in  Paris,  in  the  Residence  of  M.  Jourdain. 

ACT  II 
SCENE   III. — M.   JOURDAIN,    FENCING   MASTER,   MUSIC   MASTER, 

DANCING    MASTER,    A    SERVANT    HOLDING   TWO    FOILS. 

FEN.  MAS.  (Taking  the  two  foils  from  the  hands  of  the  servant,  and 
giving  one  to  M.  Jourdain?)     Now,  sir,  the  salute.      The  body 
upright,  resting  slightly  on  the  left  thigh.     The  legs  not  so  far 
1  "  Nothing  is  lacking  in  his  glory;  he  is  lacking  to  ours." 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.   JOURDAIN  27 

apart ;  the  feet  in  a  line.  The  wrist  in  a  line  with  the  thigh. 
The  point  of  the  foil  opposite  the  shoulder.  The  arm  not  quite 
so  much  extended.  The  left  hand  as  high  as  the  eye.  The  left 
shoulder  more  squared.  The  head  erect ;  the  look  firm.  Ad- 
vance, the  body  steady.  Engage  my  blade  in  quart,  and  retain 
the  engagement.  One,  two.  As  you  were.  Once  more,  with 
the  foot  firm.  One,  two ;  a  step  to  the  rear.  When  you  make 
an  attack,  sir,  the  sword  should  move  first,  and  the  body  be 
well  held  back.  One,  two.  Engage  my  blade  in  tierce,  and 
retain  the  engagement.  Advance ;  the  body  steady.  Advance ; 
one,  two.  Recover.  Once  more.  One,  two.  A  step  to  the  rear. 
On  guard,  sir;  on  guard.  (The  Fencing  Master  delivers  two  or 
three  attacks,  calling  out,  "  On  guard !  ") 

M.  JOUR.  Ah ! 

Mus.  MAS.  You  are  doing  wonders. 

FEN.  MAS.  As  I  have  already  told  you,  the  whole  art  of  fenc- 
ing consists  of  one  or  two  things — in  giving  and  not  receiving ; 
and,  as  I  showed  you  the  other  day  by  demonstrative  reason,  it 
is  impossible  for  you  to  receive  if  you  know  how  to  turn  aside 
your  adversary's  weapon  from  the  line  of  your  body ;  and  this 
again  depends  only  on  a  slight  movement  of  the  wrist  to  the 
inside  or  the  out. 

M.  JOUR.  So  that  a  man,  without  having  any  courage,  is  sure 
of  killing  his  man  and  of  not  being  killed  himself. 

FEN.  MAS.  Exactly.  Did  you  not  see  plainly  the  demonstra- 
tion of  it  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Yes. 

FEN.  MAS.  And  this  shows  you  of  what  importance  we  must 
be  in  a  state;  and  how  much  the  science  of  arms  is  superior  to 
all  the  other  useless  sciences,  such  as  dancing,  music 

DAN.  MAS.  Gently,  Mr.  Fencing  Master;  speak  of  dancing 
with  respect,  if  you  please. 

Mus.  MAS.  Pray  learn  to  treat  more  properly  the  excellence 
oi  music. 

FEN.  MAS.  Just  see  the  man  of  importance ! 

DAN.  MAS.  A  fine  animal,  to  be  sure,  with  his  plastron. 


28  JEAN-BAPTISTE  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

FEN.  MAS.  Take  care,  my  little  dancing  master,  or  I  shall 
make  you  dance  in  fine  style.  And  you,  my  little  musician,  I'll 
teach  you  to  sing  out. 

DAN.  MAS.  And  you,  my  beater  of  iron,  I'll  teach  you  your 
trade. 

M.  JOUR.  (To  the  Dancing  Master.)  Are  you  mad,  to  go  and 
quarrel  with  a  man  who  understands  tierce  and  quart,  and 
knows  how  to  kill  another  by  demonstrative  reason? 

DAN.  MAS.  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  his  demonstrative  reason, 
and  his  tierce  and  quart. 

M.  JOUR.  ( To  the  Dancing  Master.)     Gently,  I  tell  you. 

FEN.  MAS.  (To  the  Dancing  Master.)  How,  you  little  im- 
pudent fellow ! 

M.  JOUR.  Ah,  my  Fencing  Master ! 

DAN.  MAS.  (To  the  Fencing  Master.)  How,  you  great  cart- 
horse ! 

M.  JOUR.  Stop,  my  Dancing  Master ! 

FEN.  MAS.  If  I  once  begin  with  you 

M.  JOUR.  (To  the  Fencing  Master.)     Gently. 

DAN.  MAS.  If  I  lay  my  hand  upon  you 

M.  JOUR.  Softly. 


FEN.  MAS.  I  will  beat  you  after  such  a  fashion 

M.  JOUR.  ( To  the  Fencing  Master?)     For  goodness  sake ! 

DAN.  MAS.  I'll  thrash  you  in  such  a  style 

M.  JOUR.  (To  the  Dancing  Master.)     I  beg  of  you 

Mus.  MAS.  Let  us  teach  him  a  little  how  to  behave  himself. 
M.  JOUR.  ( To    the   Music   Master.)     Gracious  heavens !      Do 
stop. 

SCENE  IV. — PROFESSOR   or    PHILOSOPHY,   M.    JOURDAIN,  MUSIC 

MASTER,    DANCING   MASTER,    FENCING   MASTER,    A    SERVANT. 

M.  JOUR.  Oh !  you  are  in  the  very  nick  of  time  with  your 
philosophy.  Pray  come  here  and  restore  peace  among  these 
people. 

PROF.  PHIL.  What  is  going  on  ?  What  is  the  matter,  gentle- 
men? 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.   JOURDAIN  29 

M.  JOUR.  They  have  got  themselves  into  such  a  rage  about 
the  importance  that  ought  to  be  attached  to  their  different  pro- 
fessions, that  they  have  almost  come  to  blows  over  it. 

PROF.  PHIL.  For  shame,  gentlemen ;  how  can  you  thus  for- 
get yourselves  ?  Have  you  not  read  the  learned  treatise  which 
Seneca  composed  on  anger  ?  Is  there  anything  more  base  and 
more  shameful  than  the  passion  which  changes  a  man  into  a 
savage  beast,  and  ought  not  reason  to  govern  all  our  actions? 

DAN.  MAS.  How,  sir !  He  comes  and  insults  us  both  in  our 
professions;  he  despises  dancing,  which  I  teach,  and  music, 
which  is  his  occupation  (pointing  to  Music  Master). 

PROF.  PHIL.  A  wise  man  is  above  all  the  insults  that  can  be 
offered  him ;  and  the  best  and  noblest  answer  one  can  make  to 
all  kinds  of  provocation  is  moderation  and  patience. 

FEN.  MAS.  They  have  both  the  impertinence  to  compare  their 
professions  to  mine ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  Why  should  this  offend  you  ?  It  is  not  for  vain- 
glory and  rank  that  men  should  strive  among  themselves. 
What  distinguishes  one  man  from  another  is  wisdom  and 
virtue. 

DAN.  MAS.  I  maintain  that  dancing  is  a  science  which  we 
cannot  honor  too  much. 

Mus.  MAS.  And  I  that  music  is  a  science  which  all  ages  have 
revered. 

FEN.  MAS.  And  I  maintain  against  them  both  that  the 
science  of  attack  and  defence  is  the  best  and  most  necessary  of 
all  sciences. 

PROF.  PHIL.  And  for  what,  then,  do  you  count  philosophy? 
I  think  you  are  all  three  very  bold  fellows,  to  dare  to  speak 
before  me  with  this  arrogance,  and  impudently  to  give  the 
name  of  science  to  things  which  are  not  even  to  be  honored 
with  the  name  of  art,  but  which  can  only  be  classed  with  the 
trades  of  prize-fighter,  street-singer,  and  mountebank. 

FEN.  MAS.  Get  out,  you  dog  of  a  philosopher ! 

Mus.  MAS.  Get  along  with  you,  you  beggarly  pedant ! 

DAN.  MAS.  Begone,  you  empty-headed  college  scout ! 


30  JEAN-BAPTISTS  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

PROF.  PHIL.  How,  scoundrels  that  you  are! 

(The  Philosopher  rushes  upon  them,  and  they  all  three  belabor 
him.) 

M.  JOUR.  Mr.  Philosopher ! 
PROF.  PHIL.  Infamous  villains! 
M.  JOUR.  Mr.  Philosopher ! 
FEN.  MAS.  Plague  take  the  animal ! 
M.  JOUR.  Gentlemen ! 
PROF.  PHIL.  Impudent  cads  ! 
M.  JOUR.  Mr.  Philosopher ! 
DAN.  MAS.  Deuce  take  the  saddled  donkey! 
M.  JOUR.  Gentlemen! 
PROF.  PHIL.  Scoundrels ! 
M.  JOUR.  Mr.  Philosopher! 
Mus.  MAS.  Perdition  take  the  insolent  fellow  ! 
M.  JOUR.  Gentlemen ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  Knaves,  beggars,  wretches,  impostors ! 
M.  JOUR.  Mr.  Philosopher!     Gentlemen!     Mr.  Philosopher! 
Gentlemen !    Mr.  Philosopher  ! 

SCENE  V. — M.  JOURDAIN,  A  SERVANT. 

M.  JOUR.  Well!  fight  as  much  as  you  like,  I  can't  help  it; 
but  don't  expect  me  to  go  and  spoil  my  dressing-gown  to  sepa- 
rate you.  I  should  be  a  fool  indeed  to  trust  myself  among  them, 
and  receive  some  blow  or  other  that  might  hurt  me. 

SCENE  VI. — PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY,  M.  JOURDAIN,  A  SERVANT. 

PROF.  PHIL.  (Setting  his  collar  in  order.)     Now  for  our  lesson. 

M.  JOUR.  Ah,  sir,  how  sorry  I  am  for  the  blows  they  have 
given  you ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  It  is  of  no  consequence.  A  Philosopher  knows 
how  to  receive  things  calmly,  and  I  shall  compose  against 
them  a  satire,  in  the  style  of  Juvenal,  which  will  cut  them  up 
in  proper  fashion.  Let  us  drop  this  subject.  What  do  you 
wish  to  learn? 

M.  JOUR.  Everything  I  can,  for  I  have  the  greatest  desire  in 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.   JOURDAIN  31 

the  world  to  be  learned ;  and  it  vexes  me  more  than  I  can  tell 
that  my  father  and  mother  did  not  make  me  learn  thoroughly 
all  the  sciences  when  I  was  young. 

PROF.  PHIL.  This  is  a  praiseworthy  feeling.  Nam  sine  doc- 
trina  vita  est  quasi  mortis  imago.  You  understand  this,  and  you 
have,  no  doubt,  a  knowledge  of  Latin? 

M.  JOUR.  Yes;  but  act  as  if  I  had  none.  Explain  to  me  the 
meaning  of  it. 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  meaning  of  it  is  this,  that  without  science 
life  is  an  image  of  death. 

M.  JOUR.  That  Latin  is  quite  right. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Have  you  any  principles,  any  rudiments  of 
science  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Oh,  yes ;  I  can  read  and  write. 

PROF.  PHIL.  With  what  would  you  like  to  begin  ?  Shall  I 
teach  you  logic? 

M.  JOUR.  And  what  may  this  logic  be  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  It  is  that  which  teaches  us  the  three  operations 
of  the  mind. 

M.  JOUR.  What  are  they,  those  three  operations  of  the  mind  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  first,  the  second,  and  the  third.  The  first 
is  to  conceive  well  by  means  of  universals ;  the  second,  to  judge 
well  by  means  of  categories ;  and  the  third,  to  draw  a  conclu- 
sion aright  by  means  of  the  figures  Barbara,  Celarent,  Darii,  Bar- 
alipton,  etc. 

M.  JOUR.  Pooh !  what  repulsive  words.  This  logic  does  not 
by  any  means  suit  me.  Teach  me  something  more  enlivening. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Will  you  learn  moral  philosophy  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Moral  philosophy? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Yes. 

M.  JOUR.  What  does  it  say,  this  moral  philosophy  ?      , 

PROF.  PHIL.  It  treats  of  happiness,  teaches  men  to  moderate 
their  passions,  and 

M.  JOUR.  No,  none  of  that.  I  am  infernally  hot-tempered, 
and,  morality  or  no  morality,  I  like  to  give  full  vent  to  my 
anger  whenever  I  have  a  mind  to  it. 


32  JEAN-BAPTI8TE  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

PROF.  PHIL.  Would  you  like  to  learn  physics? 

M.  JOUR.  And  what  have  physics  to  say  for  themselves  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Physics  are  that  science  which  explains  the 
principles  of  natural  things  and  the  properties  of  bodies, 
which  discourses  of  the  nature  of  the  elements  of  metals, 
minerals,  stones,  plants,  and  animals;  which  teaches  us  the 
cause  of  all  the  meteors,  the  rainbow,  the  ignis  fatuus,  comets, 
lightning,  thunder,  thunderbolts,  rain,  snow,  hail,  wind,  and 
whirlwinds. 

M.  JOUR.  There  is  too  much  hullaballoo  in  all  that;  too 
much  riot  and  rumpus. 

PROF.  PHIL.  '  What  would  you  have  me  teach  you,  then  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Teach  me  spelling. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Very  good. 

M.  JOUR.  Afterward  you  will  teach  me  the  almanac,  so  that 
I  may  know  when  there  is  a  moon,  and  when  there  isn't  one. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Be  it  so.  In  order  to  give  a  right  interpretation 
of  your  thought,  and  to  treat  this  matter  philosophically,  we 
must  begin,  according  to  the  order  of  things,  with  an  exact 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  the  letters,  and  the  different  way 
in  which  each  is  pronounced.  And  on  this  head,  I  must  tell 
you  that  letters  are  divided  into  vowels,  so  called  because  they 
express  the  voice,  and  into  consonants,  so  called  because  they 
are  sounded  with  the  vowels,  and  only  mark  the  different 
articulations  of  the  voice.  There  are  five  vowels, l  or  voices, 
a,  e,  i,  o,  u. 

M.  JOUR.  I  understand  all  that. 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  vowel  a  is  formed  by  opening  the  mouth 
wide ;  a. 

M.  JOUR.  A,  a;  yes. 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  vowel  e  is  formed  by  drawing  the  lower 
jaw  a  little  nearer  to  the  upper ;  a,  e. 

M.  JOUR.  A,  e;  a,  e ;  to  be  sure.     Ah !  how  beautiful  that  is ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  And   the  vowel   i  by  bringing  the  jaws   still 

1  The  vowels  here  described  are  the  French  vowels.  The  descriptions  do  not 
npply  to  the  English  sounds  of  the  letters. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.   JOURDAIN  33 

closer  to  one  another,  and  stretching  the  two  corners  of  the 
mouth  toward  the  ears  ;  a,  e,  i. 

M.  JOUR.  A,  e,  i,  i,  i,  i.     Quite  true.     Long  live  science  ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  vowel  o  is  formed  by  opening  the  jaws 
and  drawing  in  the  lips  at  the  two  corners,  the  upper  and  the 
lower;  o. 

M.  JOUR.  0,  o.  Nothing  can  be  more  correct ;  a,  e,  i,  o,  i,  o. 
It  is  admirable !  /,  o,  i,  o. 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  opening  of  the  mouth  exactly  makes  a 
little  circle,  which  resembles  an  o. 

M.  JOUR.  0,  o,  o.  You  are  right.  0 !  Ah,  what  a  fine 
thing  it  is  to  know  something ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  vowel  u  is  formed  by  bringing  the  teeth 
near  each  other  without  entirely  joining  them,  and  thrusting 
out  both  the  lips,  whilst  also  bringing  them  near  together 
without  joining  them ;  u. 

M.  JOUR.    U,  u.     There  is  nothing  more  true  ;  M. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Your  two  lips  lengthen  as  if  you  were  pouting ; 
so  that,  if  you  wish  to  make  a  grimace  at  anybody,  and  to 
laugh  at  him,  you  have  only  to  u  him. 

M.  JOUR.  [7,  u.  It's  true.  Oh,  that  I  had  studied  when  I 
was  younger,  so  as  to  know  all  this ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  To-morrow  we  will  speak  of  the  other  letters, 
which  are  the  consonants. 

M.  JOUR.  Is  there  anything  as  curious  in  them  as  in  these  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Certainly.  For  instance,  the  consonant  d  is 
pronounced  by  striking  the  tip  of  the  tongue  above  the  upper 
teeth ;  da. 

M.  JOUR.  Da,  da.  Yes.  Ah,  what  beautiful  things,  what 
beautiful  things ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  /,  by  pressing  the  upper  teeth  upon  the 
lower  lip ;  fa. 

M.  JOUR.  Fa,  fa.  'Tis  the  truth.  Ah,  my  father  and  my 
mother,  how  angry  I  feel  with  you  ! 

PROF.  PHIL.  And  the  r,  by  carrying  the  tip  of  the  tongue  up 
to  the  roof  of  the  palate,  so  that,  being  grazed  by  the  air  which 


34  JEAN- BAPTISTS  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

comes  out  by  force,  it  yields  to  it,  and,  returning  to  the  same 
place,  causes  a  sort  of  tremor  ;  r,  ra. 

M.  JOUR.  R-r-ra ;  r-r-r-r-r-ra.  That's  true.  Ah,  what  a 
clever  man  you  are,  and  what  time  I  have  lost !  R-r-ra. 

PROF.  PHIL.  I  will  fully  explain  all  these  curiosities  to  you. 

M.  JOUR.  Pray  do.  And  now  I  want  to  intrust  you  with  a 
great  secret.  I  am  in  love  with  a  lady  of  quality,  and  I  should 
be  glad  if  you  will  help  me  to  write  something  to  her  in  a  short 
letter  which  I  mean  to  drop  at  her  feet. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Very  well. 

M.  JOUR.  That  will  be  gallant ;  will  it  not  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Undoubtedly.    Is  it  verse  you  wish  to  write  to  her? 

M.  JOUR.  Oh,  no ;  not  verse. 

PROF.  PHIL.  You  only  wish  for  prose  ? 

M.  JOUR.  No.     I  wish  for  neither  verse  nor  prose. 

PROF.  PHIL.  It  must  be  one  or  the  other. 

M.  JOUR.  Why? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Because,  sir,  there  is  nothing  by  which  we  can 
express  ourselves,  except  prose  or  verse. 

M.  JOUR.  There  is  nothing  but  prose  or  verse  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  No,  sir.  Whatever  is  not  prose  is  verse ;  and 
whatever  is  not  verse  is  prose. 

M.  JOUR.  And  when  we  speak,  what  is  that,  then  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Prose. 

M.  JOUR.  What !  When  I  say,  "  Nicole,  bring  me  my  slip- 
pers, and  give  me  my  night-cap,"  is  that  prose  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  Yes,  sir. 

M.  JOUR.  Upon  my  word,  I  have  been  speaking  prose  these 
forty  years  without  being  aware  of  it;  and  I  am  under  the 
greatest  obligation  to  you  for  informing  me  of  it.  Well,  then, 
I  wish  to  write  to  her  in  a  letter,  Fair  Marchioness,  your  beauti- 
ful eyes  make  me  die  of  love  ;  but  I  would  have  this  worded  in 
a  genteel  manner,  and  turned  prettily. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Say  that  the  fire  of  her  eyes  has  reduced  your 
heart  to  ashes;  that  you  suffer  day  and  night  for  her  tor- 
tures  


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.   JOURDAIN  35 

M.  JOUR.  No,  no,  no ;  T  don't  want  any  of  that.  I  simply 
wish  for  what  I  tell  you.  Fair  Marchioness,  your  beautiful  eyes 
make  me  die  of  love. 

PROF.  PHIL.  Still,  you  might  amplify  the  thing  a  little. 

M.  JOUR.  No,  I  tell  you,  I  will  have  nothing  but  those  words 
in  the  letter ;  but  they  must  be  put  in  a  fashionable  way,  and 
arranged  as  they  should  be.  Pray  show  me  a  little,  so  that  I 
may  see  the  different  ways  in  which  they  may  be  put. 

PROF.  PHIL.  They  may  be  put,  first  of  all,  as  you  have  said, 
Fair  Marchioness,  your  beautiful  eyes  make  me  die  of  love  ;  or  else, 
Of  love  die  make  me,  fair  Marchioness,  your  beautiful  eyes ;  or, 
Your  beautiful  eyes  of  love  make  me,  fair  Marchioness,  die  ;  or,  Die 
of  love  your  beautiful  eyes,  fair  Marchioness,  make  me  ;  or  else,  Me 
make  your  beautiful  eyes  die,  fair  Marchioness,  of  love. 

M.  JOUR.  But  of  all  these  ways  which  is  the  best  ? 

PROF.  PHIL.  The  one  you  said.  Fair  Marchioness,  your  beauti- 
ful eyes  make  me  die  of  love. 

M.  JOUR.  Yet  I  have  never  studied,  and  I  did  all  that  right 
off  at  the  first  shot.  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  beg 
of  you  to  come  to-morrow  morning  early. 

PROF.  PHIL.  I  shall  not  fail. 


ACT   III 

SCENE  I. — M.  JOURDAIN,  TWO  LACKEYS. 

M.  JOUR.  Follow  me,  that  I  may  go  and  show  my  clothes 
about  the  town ;  and  be  very  careful,  both  of  you,  to  walk  close 
to  my  heels,  so  that  people  may  see  that  you  belong  to  me. 

LACK.  Yes,  sir. 

M.  JOUR.  Just  call  Nicole.  I  have  some  orders  to  give  her. 
You  need  not  move;  here  she  comes. 

SCENE  II. — M.  JOURDAIN,  NICOLE,  TWO  LACKEYS. 

M.  JOUR.  Nicole ! 
NIC.  What  is  it,  sir  ? 


36  JEAN-BAPTISTE  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

M.  JOUR.  Listen. 

NIC.  (Laughing)     Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? 

NIC.  Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  What  does  the  hussy  mean  ? 

NIC.  Hi,  hi,  hi !     What  a  figure  you  cut !     Hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  Eh?    What? 

NIC.  Ah,  ah !     My  goodness !  Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  What  an  impertinent  jade !  Are  you  laughing  at 
me? 

NIC.  Oh,  no,  sir !  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  so.  Hi,  hi,  hi, 
hi,  hi! 

M.  JOUR.  I'll  slap  your  face  if  you  laugh  again. 

NIC.  *I  can't  help  it,  sir.     Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  Will  you  leave  off? 

NIC.  Sir ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  but  you  are  so  very  comical 
that  I  can't  help  laughing.  Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  Did  you  ever  see  such  impudence  ? 

NIC.  You  are  so  odd,  like  that.     Hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  I'll- 

Nic.  I  beg  of  you  to  excuse  me.     Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  Look  here;  if  you  laugh  again,  ever  so  little,  I  swear 
I  will  give  you  a  box  on  the  ears  such  as  you  never  had  before 
in  your  life. 

NIC.  Well,  sir,  I  have  done.     I  won't  laugh  any  more. 

M.  JOUR.  Mind  you  don't.  You  must  for  this  afternoon 
clean 

NIC.  Hi,  hi! 

M.  JOUR.  You  must  clean  thoroughly 

NIC.  Hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  You  must,  I  say,  clean  the  drawing-room,  and 

NIC.  Hi,  hi !  ' 

M.  JOUR.  Again? 

NIC.  (Tumbling  down  with  laughing)  There,  sir,  beat  me 
rather,  but  let  me  laugh  to  my  heart's  content.  I  am  sure  it 
will  be  better  for  me.  Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi,  hi ! 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.    JOURDAIN  37 

M.  JOUR.  I  am  boiling  with  rage. 

NIC.  For  pity's  sake  let  me  laugh.     Hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  If  I  begin 

NIC.  Si-r-r,  I  shall  bur-r-st  if  I  d-don't  laugh.     Hi,  hi,  hi ! 

M.  JOUR.  But  did  you  ever  see  such  a  hussy  ?  She  comes  and 
laughs  at  me  to  my  face,  instead  of  tending  to  my  orders. 

NIC.  What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do,  sir  ? 

M.  JOUR.  I  want  you  to  get  this  house  ready  for  the  company 
which  is  to  come  here  by  and  by. 

NIC.  (Getting  up.)  Ah,  well!  All  my  wish  to  laugh  is  gone 
now ;  your  company  brings  such  disorder  here  that  what  you 
say  is  quite  sufficient  to  put  me  out  of  temper. 

M.  JOUR.  I  suppose  that,  to  please  you,  I  ought  to  shut  my 
door  against  everybody  ? 

NIC.  You  would  do  well  to  shut  it  against  certain  people,  sir. 

SCENE  III. — MME.  JOURDAIN,   M.  JOURDAIN,  NICOLE,  TWO 

SERVANTS. 

MME.  JOUR.  Ah,  me !  Here  is  some  new  vexation !  Why,  hus- 
band, what  do  you  possibly  mean  by  this  strange  get-up  ?  Have 
you  lost  your  senses,  that  you  go  and  deck  yourself  out  like  this, 
and  do  you  wish  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  everybody,  wher- 
ever you  go  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Let  me  tell  you,  my  good  wife,  that  no  one  but  a 
iool  will  laugh  at  me. 

MME.  JOUR.  No  one  has  waited  until  to-day  for  that ;  and  it 
is  now  some  time  since  your  ways  of  going  on  have  been  the 
amusement  of  everybody. 

M.  JOUR.  And  who  may  everybody  be,  please? 

MME.  JOUR.  Everybody  is  a  body  who  is  in  the  right,  and  who 
has  more  sense  than  you.  For  my  part,  I  am  quite  shocked  at 
the  life  you  lead.  I  don't  know  our  home  again.  One  would 
think,  by  what  goes  on,  that  it  was  one  everlasting  carnival 
here ;  and  as  soon  as  day  breaks,  for  fear  we  should  have  any 
rest  in  it,  we  have  a  regular  din  of  fiddles  and  singers,  that  are  a 
positive  nuisance  to  all  the  neighborhood. 


38  JEAN-BAPTISTS  POQUELIN  MOLIEEE 

NIC.  What  mistress  says  is  quite  right.  There  is  no  longer 
any  chance  of  having  the  house  clean,  with  all  that  heap  of 
people  you  bring  in.  Their  feet  seem  to  have  gone  purposely  to 
pick  up  the  mud  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  town,  in  order  to 
bring  it  here  afterward ;  and  poor  Fran9oise  is  almost  off  her 
legs  with  the  constant  scrubbing  of  the  floors,  which  your  mas- 
ters come  and  dirty  every  day  as  regular  as  clockwork. 

M.  JOUR.  I  say,  there,  our  servant  Nicole,  you  have  a  pretty 
sharp  tongue  of  your  own  for  a  country  wench. 

MME.  JOUR.  Nicole  is  right,  and  she  has  more  sense  by  far 
than  you  have.  I  should  like  to  know,  for  instance,  what  do 
you  mean  to  do  with  a  dancing  master  at  your  age  ? 

NIC.  And  with  that  big  fencing  master  who  comes  here 
stamping  enough  to  shake  the  whole  house  down,  and  to  tear  up 
the  floor  tiles  of  our  rooms. 

M.  JOUR.  Gently,  my  servant  and  my  wife. 

MME.  JOUR.  Do  you  mean  to  learn  dancing  for  the  time  when 
you  can't  stand  on  your  legs  any  longer? 

NIC.  Do  you  intend  to  kill  anybody  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Hold  your  tongues,  I  say.  You  are  only  ignorant 
women,  both  of  you,  and  understand 'nothing  concerning  the 
prerogative  of  all  this. 

MME.  JOUR.  You  would  do  much  better  to  think  of  seeing 
your  daughter  married,  for  she  is  now  of  an  age  to  be  provided  for. 

M.  JOUR.  I  shall  think  of  seeing  my  daughter  married  when 
a  suitable  match  presents  itself ;  but  in  the  mean  time,  I  wish  to 
think  of  acquiring  fine  learning. 

NIC.  I  have  heard  say  also,  mistress,  that,  to  go  the  whole  hog, 
he  has  now  taken  a  professor  of  philosophy. 

M.  JOUR.  To  be  sure  I  have.  I  wish  to  be  clever,  and  reason 
concerning  things  with  people  of  quality. 

MME.  JOUR.  Had  you  not  better  go  to  school  one  of  these 
days,  and  get  the  birch,  at  your  age  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Why  not  ?  Would  to  Heaven  I  were  flogged  this 
very  instant,  before  all  the  world,  so  that  I  might^know  all  they 
learn  at  school. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  M.    JOURDAIN  39 

NIC.  Yes,  to  be  sure.  That  would  much  improve  the  shape  of 
your  leg. 

M.  JOUR.  Of  course. 

MME.  JOUR.  And  all  this  is  very  necessary  for  the  manage- 
ment of  your  house  ? 

M.  JOUR.  Certainly.  You  both  speak  like  donkeys,  and  I  am 
ashamed  of  yeur  ignorance.  (To  Mme.  Jourdain.)  Let  me  see, 
for  instance,  if  you  know  what  you  are  speaking  this  very 
moment. 

MME.  JOUR.  Yes,  I  know  that  what  I  speak  is  rightly  spoken ; 
and  that  you  should  think  of  leading  a  different  life. 

M.  JOUR.  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  ask  you  what  the  words  are 
that  you  are  now  speaking. 

MME.  JOUR.  They  are  sensible  words,  I  tell  you,  and  that  is 
more  than  your  conduct  is. 

M.  JOUR.  I  am  not  speaking  of  that.  I  ask  you  what  it  is 
that  I  am  now  saying  to  you.  That  which  I  am  now  speaking 
to  you,  what  is  it  ? 

MME.  JOUR.  Rubbish. 

M.  JOUR.  No,  no !  I  don't  mean  that.  What  we  both  speak ; 
the  language  we  are  speaking  this  very  moment. 

MME.  JOUR.  Well? 

M.  JOUR.  How  is  it  called  ? 

MME.  JOUR.  It  is  called  whatever  you  like  to  call  it. 

M.  JOUR.  It  is  PROSE,  you  ignorant  woman  ! 

MME.  JOUR.  Prose? 

M.  JOUR.  Whatever  is  prose  is  not  verse,  and  whatever  is 
not  verse  is  prose.  There !  you  see  what  it  is  to  study.  ( To 
Nicole.)  And  you,  do  you  even  know  what  you  must  do  to  say  u  f 

NIC.  Eh?    What? 

M.  JOUR.  Yes.     What  do  you  do  when  you  say  u  f 

NIC.  What  I  do? 

M.  JOUR.  Say  u  a  little,  to  try. 

NIC.  Well,  u. 

M.  JOUR.  What  is  it  you  do  ? 

NIC.  I  say  u. 


40  JEAN-BAPTISTE  POQUELIN  MOLIERE 

M.  JOUR.  Yes ;  but  when  you  say  u,  what  is  it  you  do  ? 

NIC.  I  do  what  you  ask  me  to  do. 

M.  JOUR.  Oh,  what  a  strange  thing  it  is  to  have  to  do  with 
dunces !  You  pout  your  lips  outwards,  and  bring  your  upper 
jaw  near  your  lower  jaw  like  this,  it;  I  make  a  face ;  u.  Do  you 
see? 

NIC.  Yes,  that's  beautiful. 

MME.  JOUR.  It's  admirable. 

M.  JOUR.  What  would  you  say  then  if  you  had  seen  o,  and 
da,  da,  and  /a,  fa  ? 

MME.  JOUR.  What  is  all  this  absurd  stuff? 

NIC.  And  what  are  we  the  better  for  all  this  ? 

M.  JOUR.  I  have  no  patience  with  such  ignorant  women. 


JEAN    JACQUES    ROUSSEAU 

1 712-1 778 

JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU,  a  paradox  of  moralists,  a  strange  compound 
of  the  best  and  the  worst  in  human  nature,  was  born  in  Geneva,  Switz- 
erland, in  1712.  He  was  the  son  of  a  barber  and  dancing  master,  and 
was  bereaved  of  his  mother  soon  after  his  birth.  Running  away,  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  from  the  master  to  whom  he  was  apprenticed,  he 
wandered  about  for  a  time,  and  then  found  a  home  with  an  eccentric 
widow,  Madame  de  Warens,  at  Auncey,  in  whose  household  he  re- 
mained for  a  number  of  years.  Rousseau  was  a  teacher  of  music, 
successively  at  Lyons  and  in  Paris.  In  the  latter  city  he  joined  his 
fortunes  with  those  of  Louise  le  Vasseur,  a  coarse  and  ignorant  seam- 
stress. He  soon  became  famous  at  Paris  as  a  critic  and  essayist.  He 
sent  his  children  at  birth  to  the  hospital  for  foundlings.  Years  later, 
repenting  of  their  conduct,  he  and  Louise  sought  in  vain  to  find  them. 

In  1754,  Rousseau  returned  to  Geneva,  and  became  again  a  Protestant 
(for  he  had  embraced  Catholicism  while  in  France),  but  soon  returned 
to  the  vicinity  of  Paris,  where  a  home  had  been  presented  to  him  by  a 
friend.  Here  he  wrote  three  famous  books — "The  New  Heloise," 
"  The  Social  Contract,"  and  "  Emile."  The  last-named  work  was  con- 
demned by  the  authorities,  both  in  Catholic  France  and  in  Protestant 
Geneva,  and  an  order  was  issued  for  the  author's  arrest.  He  fled  to 
Germany,  but  was  there  in  imminent  danger.  He  repaired  to  England, 
where  he  was  well  received.  Here  he  wrote  his  first  "Confessions" 
(which  alienated  most  of  his  remaining  friends) ;  and  he  then  became 
a  wanderer.  He  died  suddenly,  near  Paris,  in  1778,  and  is  believed  by 
many  to  have  committed  suicide. 

Characterization 

In  education,  as  in  politics,  no  school  of  thinkers  has  succeeded  or 
can  succeed  in  engrossing  all  truth  to  itself.  No  party,  no  individual 
even,  can  take  up  a  central  position  between  the  conservatives  and 
radicals,  and,  judging  everything  on  its  own  merits,  try  to  preserve 
that  only  which  is  worth  preserving,  and  to  destroy  just  that  which  is 
worth  destroying.  Nor  do  we  find  that  judicial  minds  often  exercise 
the  greatest  influence  in  these  matters.  The  only  force  which  can 

41 


42  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

overcome  the  vis  inertice  !  of  use  and  wont  is  enthusiasm,  and  this, 
springing  from  the  discovery  of  new  truths  and  hatred  of  old  abuses, 
can  hardly  exist  with  due  respect  for  truth  that  has  become  common- 
place, and  usage  which  is  easily  confounded  with  corruptions  that 
disfigure  it.  So  advances  are  made  somewhat  after  this  manner:  the 
reformer,  urged  on  by  his  enthusiasm,  attacks  use  and  wont  with  more 
spirit  than  discretion ;  those  who  are  wedded  to  things  as  they  are, 
try  to  draw  attention  from  the  weak  points  of  their  system  to  the 
mistakes  or  extravagances  of  the  reformer.  In  the  end,  both  sides  are 
benefited  by  the  encounter;  and  when  their  successors  carry  on  the 
contest,  they  differ  as  much  from  those  whose  causes  they  espouse  as 
from  each  other. 

In  this  way  we  have  already  made  great  progress.  Compare,  for 
instance,  our  present  teaching  of  grammar  with  the  ancient  method, 
and  our  short  and  broken  school-time  with  the  old  plan  of  keeping 
boys  in  for  five  consecutive  hours  twice  a  day.  Our  conservatives 
and  reformers  are  not  so  much  at  variance  as  their  predecessors.  To 
convince  ourselves  of  this  we  have  only  to  consider  the  state  of  parties 
in  the  second  half  of  the  last  century.  On  the  one  side,  we  find  the 
schoolmasters  who  turned  out  the  courtiers  of  Louis  XV. ;  on  the 
other,  the  most  extravagant,  the  most  eloquent,  the  most  reckless  of 
innovators — J.  J.  Rousseau. 

Rousseau  has  told  us  that  he  resolved  on  having  fixed  principles  by 
the  time  he  was  forty  years  old.  Among  the  principles  of  which  he 
accordingly  laid  in  a  stock,  were  these:  1st,  Man,  as  he  might  be,  is 
perfectly  good;  2d,  Man,  as  he  is,  is  utterly  bad.  To  maintain  these 
opinions,  Rousseau  undertook  to  show  not  only  the  rotten  state  of  the 
existing  society,  which  he  did  with  notable  success,  but  also  the  proper 
method  of  rearing  children  so  as  to  make  them  all  that  they  ought  to 
be — an  attempt  at  construction  which  was  far  more  difficult  and  haz- 
ardous than  his  philippics. 

This  was  the  origin  of  the  "Emile,"  perhaps  the  most  influential 
book  ever  written  on  the  subject  of  education.  R.  H.  QUICK. 


R.  H.  Quick's  Adaptation  and  Summary  of  "£mile" 

The  school  to  which  Rousseau  belonged  may  be  said,  indeed, 
to  have  been  founded  by  Montaigne,  and  to  have  met  with  a 
champion,  though  not  a  very  enthusiastic  champion,  in  Locke. 
But  it  was  reserved  for  Rousseau  to  give  this  theory  of  educa- 

1  inertia 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND   SUMMARY  OF  "  EMILE"      43 

tion  its  complete  development,  and  to  expound  it  in  the  clear- 
est and  most  eloquent  language.  In  the  form  in  which  Rousseau 
left  it  the  theory  greatly  influenced  Basedow  and  Pestalozzi, 
and  still  influences  many  educational  reformers  who  differ  from 
Rousseau  as  much  as  our  schoolmasters  differ  from  those  of 
Louis  XV. 

Of  course,  as  man  was  corrupted  by  ordinary  education,  the 
ideal  education  must  differ  from  it  in  every  respect.  "  Take  the 
road  directly  opposite  to  that  which  is  in  use,  and  you  will 
almost  always  do  right."  This  was  the  fundamental  maxim. 
So  thorough  a  radical  was  Rousseau,  that  he  scorned  the  idea 
of  half  measures.  "  I  had  rather  follow  the  established  practice 
entirely,"  says  he,  "  than  adopt  a  good  one  by  halves." 

In  the  society  of  that  time  everything  was  artificial ;  Rousseau 
therefore  demanded  a  return  to  nature.  Parents  should  do 
their  duty  in  rearing  their  own  offspring.  "  Where  there  is  no 
mother,  there  can  be  no  child."  The  father  should  find  time 
to  bring  up  the  child  whom  the  mother  has  suckled.  No  duty 
can  be  more  important  than  this.  But  although  Rousseau 
seems  conscious  that  family  life  is  the  natural  state,  he  makes 
his  model  child  an  orphan,  and  hands  him  over  to  a  governor, 
to  be  brought  up  in  the  country  without  companions. 

This  governor  is  to  devote  himself,  for  some  years,  entirely  to 
imparting  to  his  pupil  these  difficult  arts — the  art  of  being 
ignorant  and  of  losing  time.  Till  he  is  twelve  years  old  Emile 
is  to  have  no  direct  instruction  whatever.  "  At  that  age  he 
shall  not  know  what  a  book  is,"  says  Rousseau ;  though  else- 
where we  are  told  that  he  will  learn  to  read  of  his  own  accord 
by  the  time  he  is  ten,  if  no  attempt  is  made  to  teach  him. 
He  is  to  be  under  no  restraint,  and  is  to  do  nothing  but  what 
he  sees  to  be  useful. 

Freedom  from  restraint  is,  however,  to  be  apparent,  not  real. 
As  in  ordinary  education  the  child  employs  all  his  faculties  in 
duping  the  master,  so  in  education  "  according  to  nature,"  the 
master  is  to  devote  himself  to  duping  the  child.  "  Let  him 
always  be  his  own  master  in  appearance,  and  do  you  take  care 


44  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

to  be  so  in  reality.  There  is  no  subjection  so  complete  as  that 
which  preserves  the  appearance  of  liberty ;  it  is  by  this  means 
even  the  will  itself  is  led  captive." 

"  The  most  critical  interval  of  human  nature  is  that  between 
the  hour  of  our  birth  and  twelve  years  of  age.  This  is  the 
time  wherein  vice  and  error  take  root  without  our  being  pos- 
sessed of  any  instrument  to  destroy  them." 

Throughout  this  season  the  governor  is  to  be  at  work  incul- 
cating the  art  of  being  ignorant  and  losing  time.  "  This  first 
part  of  education  ought  to  be  purely  negative.  It  consists 
neither  in  teaching  virtue  nor  truth,  but  in  guarding  the  heart 
from  vice,  and  the  mind  from  error.  If  you  could  do  nothing 
and  let  nothing  be  done;  if  you  could  bring  up  your  pupil 
healthy  and  robust  to  the  age  of  twelve  years,  without  his 
being  able  to  distinguish  his  right  hand  from  his  left,  the  eyes 
of  his  understanding  would  be  open  to  reason  at  your  first 
lesson  ;  void  both  of  habit  and  prejudice,  he  would  have  noth- 
ing in  him  to  operate  against  your  endeavors;  soon,  under  your 
instructions,  he  would  become  the  wisest  of  men.  Thus,  by 
setting  out  with  doing  nothing,  you  would  produce  a  prodigy 
of  education." 

"  Exercise  his  body,  his  senses,  faculties,  powers,  but  keep 
his  mind  inactive  as  long  as  possible.  Distrust  all  the  senti- 
ments he  acquires  previous  to  the  judgment  which  should 
enable  him  to  scrutinize  them.  Prevent  or  restrain  all  foreign 
impressions;  and  in  order  to  hinder  the  rise  of  evil,  be  not  in 
too  great  a  hurry  to  instill  good ;  for  it  is  only  such  when  the 
mind  is  enlightened  by  reason.  Look  upon  every  delay  as  an 
advantage :  it  is  gaining  a  great  deal  to  advance  without  losing 
anything.  Let  childhood  ripen  in  children.  In  short,  what- 
•ever  lesson  becomes  necessary  for  them,  take  care  not  to  give 
them  to-day,  if  it  may  be  deferred  without  danger  till  to- 
morrow." 

"  Do  not,  then,  alarm  yourself  much  about  this  apparent 
idleness.  What  would  you  say  of  the  man  who,  in  order  to 
make  the  most  of  life,  should  determine  never  to  go  to  sleep  ? 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY  OF  "  JSMILE"      45 

You  would  say,  the  man  is  mad;  he  is  not  enjoying  the  time; 
he  is  depriving  himself  of  it ;  to  avoid  sleep  he  is  hurrying 
toward  death.  Consider,  then,  that  it  is  the  same  here,  and  that 
childhood  is  the  sleep  of  reason." 

Such  is  the  groundwork  of  Rousseau's  educational  scheme. 
His  ideal  boy  of  twelve  years  old  is  to  be  a  thoroughly  well- 
developed  animal,  with  every  bodily  sense  trained  to  its  high- 
est perfection.  "  His  ideas,"  says  Rousseau,  "  are  confined,  but 
clear ;  he  knows  nothing  by  rote,  but  a  great  deal  by  experi- 
ence. If  he  reads  less  well  than  another  child  in  our  books, 
he  reads  better  in  the  book  of  nature.  His  understanding  does 
not  lie  in  his  tongue,  but  in  his  brain ;  he  has  less  memory 
than  judgment ;  he  can  speak  only  one  language,  but  then  he 
understands  what  he  says ;  and,  although  he  may  not  talk  of 
things  so  well  as  others,  he  will  do  them  much  better.  He 
knows  nothing  at  all  of  custom,  fashion,  or  habit ;  what  he  did 
yesterday  has  no  influence  on  what  he  is  to  do  to-day ;  he  fol- 
lows no  formula,  is  influenced  by  no  authority  or  example,  but 
acts  and  speaks  just  as  it  suits  him.  Do  not,  then,  expect 
from  him  set  discourses  or  studied  manners,  but  always  the 
faithful  expression  of  his  ideas,  and  the  conduct  which  springs 
naturally  from  his  inclinations." 

This  model  child  looks  upon  all  men  as  equal,  and  will  ask 
assistance  from  a  king  as  readily  as  from  a  foot-boy.  He  does 
not  understand  what  a  command  is,  but  will  readily  do  any- 
thing for  another  person,  in  order  to  place  that  person  under 
an  obligation,  and  so  increase  his  own  rights.  He  knows, 
also,  no  distinction  between  work  and  play.  As  a  climax 
to  this  list  of  wonders,  I  may  add  that  his  imagination  has 
remained  inactive,  and  he  only  sees  what  is  true  in  reality. 

The  reader  will  probably  have  concluded  by  this  time,  that 
no  child  can  possibly  be  so  educated  as  to  resemble  Emile,  and, 
perhaps,  further,  that  no  wise  father  would  so  educate  his  son, 
if  it  were  possible.  A  child  who  does  not  understand  what  a 
command  is,  and  who  can  be  induced  to  do  anything  for 
another  only  by  the  prospect  of  laying  that  person  under  an 


46  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

obligation ;  who  has  no  habits,  and  is  guided  merely  by  his 
inclinations — such  a  child  as  this  is,  fortunately,  nothing  but  a 
dream  of  Rousseau's. 

But  fantastical  as  Rousseau  often  is,  the  reader  of  his 
"  Emile  "  is  struck  again  and  again,  not  more  by  the  charm  of 
his  language  than  by  his  insight  into  child-nature,  and  the  wis- 
dom of  his  remarks  upon  it.  The"  Emile  "  is  a  large  work,  and 
the  latter  part  is  interesting  rather  from  a  literary  and  philo- 
sophical point  of  view,  than  as  it  is  connected  with  education. 
I  purpose,  therefore,  confining  my  attention  to  the  earlier  por- 
tion of  the  book,  and  giving  some  of  the  passages,  of  which  a 
great  deal  since  said  and  written  on  education  has  been  a  com- 
paratively insipid  decoction. 

"  All  things  are  good  as  their  Creator  made  them,  but  every- 
thing degenerates  in  the  hands  of  man."  These  are  the  first 
words  of  the  "  Emile,"  and  the  keynote  of  Rousseau's  phi- 
losophy. "  We  are  born  weak,  we  have  need  of  strength ;  we 
are  born  destitute  of  everything,  we  have  need  of  assistance ; 
we  are  born  stupid,  we  have  need  of  understanding.  All  that 
we  are  not  possessed  of  at  our  birth,  and  which  we  require 
when  grown  up,  is  bestowed  on  us  by  education. 

"  This  education  we  receive  from  nature,  from  men,  or  from 
things.  The  internal  development  of  our  organs  and  faculties 
is  the  education  of  nature ;  the  use  we  are  taught  to  make  of 
that  development  is  the  education  given  us  by  men ;  and  in 
the  acquisitions  made  by  our  own  experience  on  the  objects 
that  surround  us,  consists  our  education  from  things."  "  Since 
the  concurrence  of  these  three  kinds  of  education  is  necessary 
to  their  perfection,  it  is  by  that  one  which  is  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  us  we  must  regulate  the  two  others."  "  To  live  is  not 
merely  to  breathe  ;  it  is  to  act,  it  is  to  make  use  of  our  organs, 
our  senses,  our  faculties,  and  of  all  those  parts  of  ourselves 
which  give  us  the  feeling  of  our  existence.  The  man  who  has 
lived  most,  is  not  he  who  has  counted  the  greatest  number  of 
years,  but  he  who  has  most  thoroughly  felt  life." 

The  aim  of  education,  then,  must  be  complete  living.     But 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND   SUMMARY   OF  "  EMILE"     47 

ordinary  education  (and  here  for  a  moment  I  am  expressing 
my  own  conviction,  and  not  simply  reporting  Rousseau),  in- 
stead of  seeking  to  develop  the  life  of  the  child,  sacrifices  child- 
hood to  the  acquirement  of  knowledge,  or  rather  the  semblance 
of  knowledge,  which  it  is  thought  will  prove  useful  to  the 
youth,  or  the  man.  Rousseau's  great  merit  lies  in  his  having 
exposed  this  fundamental  error.  He  says,  very  truly : 

"  People  do  not  understand  childhood.  With  the  false  notions 
we  have  of  it,  the  further  we  go  the  more  we  blunder.  The 
wisest  apply  themselves  to  what  it  is  important  to  men  to  know, 
without  considering  what  children  are  in  a  condition  to  learn. 
They  are  always  seeking  the  man  in  the  child,  without  reflect- 
ing what  he  is  before  he  can  be  a  man.  This  is  the  study  to 
which  I  have  applied  myself  most ;  so  that,  should  my  practical 
scheme  be  found  useless  and  chimerical,  my  observation  will 
always  turn  to  account.  I  may  possibly  have  taken  a  very  bad 
view  of  what  ought  to  be  done,  but  I  conceive  I  have  taken  a 
good  one  of  the  subject  to  be  wrought  upon.  Begin,  then,  by 
studying  your  pupils  better ;  for  most  assuredly  you  do  not  at 
present  understand  them.  So  if  you  read  my  book  with  that 
view,  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  useless  to  you." 

"  Nature  requires  children  to  be  children  before  they  are 
men.  If  we  will  pervert  this  order,  we  shall  produce  forward 
fruits,  having  neither  ripeness  nor  taste,  and  sure  soon  to  be- 
come rotten ;  we  shall  have  young  professors  and  old  children. 
Childhood  has  its  manner  of  seeing,  perceiving,  and  thinking, 
peculiar  to  itself;  nothing  is  more  absurd  than  our  being  anx- 
ious to  substitute  our  own  in  its  stead." 

"  We  never  know  how  to  put  ourselves  in  the  place  of  chil- 
dren ;  we  do  not  enter  into  their  ideas,  we  lend  them  our  own : 
and  following  always  our  own  train  of  thought,  we  fill  their 
heads,  even  while  we  are  discussing  incontestable  truths,  with 
extravagance  and  error."  "  I  wish  some  judicious  hand  would 
give  us  a  treatise  on  the  art  of  studying  children ;  an  art  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  understand,  though  fathers  and  precep- 
tors know  not  as  yet  even  the  elements  of  it." 


48  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

The  governor,  then,  must  be  able  to  sympathize  with  his 
pupil,  and,  on  this  account,  Rousseau  requires  that  he  should 
be  young.  "  The  governor  of  a  child  should  be  young,  even  as 
young  as  possible,  consistent  with  his  having  attained  necessary 
discretion  and  sagacity.  I  would  have  him  be  himself  a  child, 
that  he  might  become  the  companion  of  his  pupil,  and  gain  his 
confidence  by  partaking  of  his  amusements.  There  are  not 
things  enough  in  common  between  childhood  and  manhood  to 
form  a  solid  attachment  at  so  great  a  distance.  Children  some- 
times caress  old  men,  but  they  never  love  them." 

The  governor's  functions  are  threefold :  1st,  that  of  keeping 
off  hurtful  influences — no  light  task  in  Rousseau's  eyes,  as  he 
regarded  almost  every  influence  from  the  child's  fellow-creatures 
as  hurtful ;  2d,  that  of  developing  the  bodily  powers,  especially 
the  senses ;  3d,  that  of  communicating  the  one  science  for  chil- 
dren— moral  behavior.  In  all  these,  even  in  the  last,  he  must 
be  governor  rather  than  preceptor,  for  it  is  less  his  province  to 
instruct  than  to  conduct.  He  must  not  lay  down  precepts,  but 
teach  his  pupil  to  discover  them.  "I  preach  a  difficult  art," 
says  Rousseau,  "the  art  of  guiding  without  precepts,  and  of 
doing  everything  by  doing  nothing." 

The  most  distinctive  characteristic  of  childhood  is  vitality. 
"  In  the  heart  of  the  old  man  the  failing  energies  concentrate 
themselves :  in  that  of  the  child  they  overflow  and  spread  out- 
ward; he  is  conscious  of  life  enough  to  animate  all  that  sur- 
rounds him.  Whether  he  makes  or  mars,  it  is  all  one  to  him ; 
he  is  satisfied  with  having  changed  the  state  of  things,  and 
every  change  is  an  action."  This  vitality  is  to  be  allowed  free 
scope.  Swaddling-clothes  are  to  be  removed  from  infants;  the 
restraints  of  school  and  book-learning,  from  children.  Their 
love  of  action  is  to  be  freely  indulged. 

The  nearest  approach  to  teaching  which  Rousseau  permitted 
was  that  which  became  afterward,  in  the  hands  of  Pestalozzi, 
the  system  of  object  lessons.  "  As  soon  as  a  child  begins  to  dis- 
tinguish objects,  a  proper  choice  should  be  made  in  those  which 
are  presented  to  him."  "  He  must  learn  to  feel  heat  and  cold, 


QUICKCS  ADAPTATION  AND   SUMMARY   OF  "  HiMILE"      49 

the  hardness,  softness,  and  weight  of  bodies ;  to  judge  of  their 
magnitude,  figure,  and  other  sensible  qualities,  by  looking, 
touching,  hearing,  and  particularly  by  comparing  the  sight  with 
the  touch,  and  judging,  by  means  of  the  eye,  of  the  sensation 
acquired  by  the  fingers."  These  exercises  should  be  continued 
through  childhood.  "  A  child  has  neither  the  strength  nor  the 
judgment  of  a  man ;  but  he  is  capable  of  feeling  and  hearing  as 
well,  or  at  least  nearly  so.  His  palate  also  is  as  sensible,  though 
less  delicate :  and  he  distinguishes  odors  as  well,  though  not  with 
the  same  nicety.  Of  all  our  faculties,  the  senses  are  perfected 
the  first :  these,  therefore,  are  the  first  we  should  cultivate ;  they 
are,  nevertheless,  the  only  ones  that  are  usually  forgotten,  or  the 
most  neglected." 

"  Observe  a  cat  the  first  time  she  comes  into  a  room ;  she 
looks  and  smells  about ;  she  is  not  easy  a  moment;  she  distrusts 
everything  till  everything  is  examined  and  known.  In  the  same 
manner  does  a  child  examine  into  everything,  wlien  he  begins 
to  walk  about,  and  enters,  if  I  may  so  say,  the  apartment  of  the 
world.  All  the  difference  is,  that  the  sight,  which  is  common 
to  both  the  child  and  the  cat,  is  in  the  first  assisted  by  the  feel- 
ing of  the  hands,  and  in  the  latter  by  the  exquisite  scent  which 
nature  has  bestowed  on  it.  It  is  the  right  or  wrong  cultivation 
of  this  inquisitive  disposition  that  makes  children  either  stupid 
or  expert,  sprightly  or  dull,  sensible  or  foolish.  Since  the 
primary  impulses  of  man  urge  him  to  compare  his  forces  with 
those  of  the  objects  about  him,  and  to  discover  the  sensible  qual- 
ities of  such  objects  as  far  as  they  relate  to  him,  his  first  study  is 
a  sort  of  experimental  philosophy  relative  to  self-preservation, 
from  which  it  is  the  custom  to  divert  him  by  speculative  studies 
before  he  has  found  his  place  on  this  earth.  During  the  time 
that  his  supple  and  delicate  organs  can  adjust  themselves  to  the 
bodies  on  which  they  should  act,  while  his  senses  are  as  yet 
exempt  from  illusions,  this  is  the  time  to  exercise  both  the  one 
and  the  other  in  their  proper  functions ;  this  is  the  time  to  learn 
the  sensuous  relations  which  things  have  with  us.  As  every- 
thing that  enters  the  human  understanding  is  introduced  by 
s.  M. — i 


50  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

the  senses,  the  first  reason  in  man  is  a  sensitive  reason;  and 
this  serves  as  the  basis  of  his  intellectual  reason.  Our  first  in- 
structors in  philosophy  are  our  feet,  hands,  and  eyes.  Substitut- 
ing books  for  all  this  is  not  teaching  us  to  reason,  but  teaching 
us  to  use  the  reasoning  of  others  ;  it  is  teaching  us  to  believe  a 
great  deal,  and  never  to  know  anything." 

"  To  exercise  any  art,  we  must  begin  by  procuring  the  neces- 
sary implements  ;  and  to  employ  those  implements  to  any  good 
purpose,  they  should  be  made  sufficiently  solid  for  their  in- 
tended use.  To  learn  to  think,  therefore,  we  should  exercise  our 
limbs,  and  our  organs,  which  are  the  instruments  of  our  intel- 
ligence ;  and  in  order  to  make  the  best  use  of  those  instruments, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  body  furnishing  them  should  be  robust 
and  hearty.  Thus,  so  far  is  a  sound  understanding  from  being 
independent  of  the  body,  that  it  is  owing  to  a  good  constitution 
that  the  operations  of  the  mind  are  effected  with  facility  and 
certainty." 

"  To  exercise  the  senses  is  not  merely  to  make  use  of  them ;  it 
is  to  learn  rightly  to  judge  by  them ;  to  learn,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  to  perceive ;  for  we  know  how  to  touch,  to  see,  to  hear, 
only  as  we  have  learned.  Some  exercises  are  purely  natural 
and  mechanical,  and  serve  to  make  the  body  strong  and 
robust,  without  taking  the  least  hold  on  the  judgment;  such  are 
those  of  swimming,  running,  leaping,  whipping  a  top,  throwing 
stones,  etc.  All  these  are  very  well;  but  have  we  only  arms 
and  legs?  Have  we  not  also  eyes  and  ears;  and  are  not  these 
organs  necessary  to  the  expert  use  of  the  former?  Exercise, 
therefore,  not  only  the  strength,  but  also  all  the  senses  that 
direct  it ;  make  the  best  possible  use  of  each,  and  let  the  impres- 
sions of  one  confirm  those  of  another.  Measure,  reckon,  weigh, 
compare."  According  to  the  present  system,  "  the  lessons  which 
schoolboys  learn  of  each  other  in  playing  about  their  bounds, 
are  a  hundred  times  more  useful  to  them  than  all  those  which 
the  master  teaches  in  the  school." 

He  also  suggests  experiments  in  the  dark,  which  will  both 
train  the  senses  and  get  over  the  child's  dread  of  darkness. 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY  OF  "fiMILE"      51 

Emile,  living  in  the  country  and  being  much  in  the  open  air, 
will  acquire  a  distinct  and  emphatic  way  of  speaking.  He  will 
also  avoid  a  fruitful  source  of  bad  pronunciation  among  the 
children  of  the  rich,  viz.,  saying  lessons  by  heart.  These  lessons 
the  children  gabble  when  they  are  learning  them,  and  afterward, 
in  their  efforts  to  remember  the  words,  they  drawl,  and  give  all 
kinds  of  false  emphasis.  Declamation  is  to  be  shunned  as  act- 
ing. If  Emile  does  not  understand  anything,  he  will  be  too 
wise  to  pretend  to  understand  it. 

Rousseau  seems  perhaps  inconsistent,  in  not  excluding  music 
and  drawing  from  his  curriculum  of  ignorance;  but  as  a 
musician,  he  naturally  relaxed  toward  the  former ;  and  drawing 
he  would  have  his  pupil  cultivate,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  art 
itself,  but  only  to  give  him  a  good  eye  and  supple  hand.  He 
should,  in  all  cases,  draw  from  the  objects  themselves,  "  my  inten- 
tion being,  not  so  much  that  he  should  know  how  to  imitate 
the  objects,  as  to  become  fully  acquainted  with  them." 

The  instruction  given  to  ordinary  school-boys  was,  of  course, 
an  abomination  in  the  eyes  of  Rousseau.  "  All  the  studies 
imposed  on  these  poor  unfortunates  tend  to  such  objects  as 'are 
entirely  foreign  to  their  minds.  Judge,  then,  of  the  attention 
they  are  likely  to  bestow  on  them."  "  The  pedagogues,  who 
make  a  great  parade  of  the  instructions  they  give  their  scholars, 
are  paid  to  talk  in  a  different  strain :  one  may  see  plainly,  how- 
ever, by  their  conduct,  that  they  are  exactly  of  my  opinion,  for, 
after  all,  what  is  it  they  teach  them  ?  Words,  still  words,  and 
nothing  but  words.  Among  the  various  sciences  they  pretend 
to  teach,  they  take  particular  care  not  to  fall  upon  those  which 
are  really  useful ;  because  there  would  be  the  sciences  of  things, 
and  in  them  they  would  never  succeed ;  but  they  fix  on  such  as 
appear  to  be  understood  when  their  terms  are  once  gotten  by 
rote,  viz.,  geography,  chronology,  heraldry,  the  languages,  etc., 
all  studies  so  foreign  to  the  purposes  of  man,  and  particularly  to 
those  of  a  child,  that  it  is  a  wonder  if  ever  he  may  have  occasion 
for  them  as  long  as  he  lives."  "  In  any  study  whatever,  unless 
we  possess  the  ideas  of  the  things  represented,  the  signs  repre- 


52  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

senting  them  are  of  no  use  or  consequence.  A  child  is,  never- 
theless, always  confined  to  these  signs,  without  our  being  capable 
of  making  him  comprehend  any  of  the  things  which  they  repre- 
sent. What  is  the  world  to  a  child?  It  is  a  globe  of  paste- 
board." 

"  As  no  science  consists  in  the  knowledge  of  words,  so  there 
is  no  study  proper  for  children.  As  they  have  no  certain  ideas, 
so  they  have  no  real  memory ;  for  I  do  not  call  that  so  which 
is  retentive  only  of  mere  sensations.  What  signifies  imprint- 
ing on  their  minds  a  catalogue  of  signs  which  to  them  represent 
nothing?  Is  it  to  be  feared  that,  in  acquiring  the  knowledge 
of  things,  they  will  not  acquire  also  that  of  signs?  Why,  then, 
shall  we  put  them  to  the  unnecessary  trouble  of  learning  them 
twice?  And  yet  what  dangerous  prejudices  do  we  not  begin 
to  instill,  by  making  them  take  for  knowledge  words  which 
to  them  are  without  meaning? 

"  In  the  very  first  unintelligible  sentence  with  which  a  child 
sits  down  satisfied,  in  the  very  first  thing  he  takes  upon  trust, 
or  learns  from  others  without  being  himself  convinced  of  its 
utility,  he  loses  part  of  his  understanding ;  and  he  may  figure 
long  in  the  eyes  of  fools  before  he  will  be  able  to  repair  so  con- 
siderable a  loss.  No ;  if  nature  has  given  to  the  child's  brain 
that  pliability  which  renders  it  fit  to  receive  all  impressions, 
it  is  not  with  a  view  that  we  should  imprint  thereon  the  names 
of  kings,  dates,  terms  of  heraldry,  of  astronomy,  of  geography, 
and  all  those  words,  meaningless  at  his  age,  and  useless  at  any 
age,  with  which  we  weary  his  sad  and  ster^e  childhood ;  but 
that  all  the  ideas  which  he  can  conceive,  and  which  are  useful 
to  him,  all  those  which  relate  to  his  happiness,  and  will  one 
day  make  his  duty  plain  to  him,  may  trace  themselves  there  in 
characters  never  to  be  effaced,  and  may  assist  him  in  conduct- 
ing himself  through  life  in  a  manner  appropriate  to  his  nature 
and  his  faculties." 

"  That  kind  of  memory  which  is  possessed  by  children,  may 
be  fully  employed  without  setting  them  to  study  books.  Every- 
thing they  see,  or  hear,  appears  striking,  and  they  commit  it  to 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND   SUMMARY  OF  "  EMILE"     53 

memory.  A  child  keeps  in  his  mind  a  register  of  the  actions 
and  conversation  of  those  who  are  about  him  ;  every  scene  he  is 
engaged  in  is  a  book  from  which  he  insensibly  enriches  his 
memory,  treasuring  up  his  store  till  time  shall  ripen  his  judg- 
ment and  turn  it  to  profit.  In  the  choice  of  these  scenes  and 
objects,  in  the  care  of  presenting  those  constantly  to  his  view 
which  he  ought  to  be  familiar  with,  and  in  hiding  from  him 
such  as  are  improper,  consists  the  true  art  of  cultivating  this 
primary  faculty  of  a  child.  By  such  means,  also,  it  is,  that  we 
should  endeavor  to  form  that  magazine  of  knowledge  which 
should  serve  for  his  education  in  youth,  and  to  regulate  his 
conduct  afterward.  This  method,  it  is  true,  is  not  productive  of 
little  prodigies  of  learning,  nor  does  it  tend  to  the  glorification 
of  the  governess  or  preceptor ;  but  it  is  the  way  to  form  robust 
and  judicious  men,  persons  sound  in  body  and  mind,  who,  with- 
out being  admired  while  children,  know  how  to  make  them- 
selves respected  when  grown  up." 

As  for  reading  and  writing,  if  you  can  induce  a  desire  for 
them  the  child  will  be  sure  to  learn  them.  "  I  am  almost 
certain  that  Emile  will  know  perfectly  well  how  to  read  and 
write  before  he  is  ten  years  old,  because  I  give  myself  very  little 
trouble  whether  he  learn  it  or  not  before  he  is  fifteen ;  but  I  had 
much  rather  he  should  never  learn  to  read  at  all,  than  to  ac- 
quire that  knowledge  at  the  expense  of  everything  that  would 
render  it  useful  to  him ;  and  of  what  service  will  the  power  of 
reading  be  to  him  when  he  has  renounced  its  use  forever  ?  " 

The  following  passage  is  perhaps  familiar  to  Mr.  Lowe  :  "  If, 
proceeding  on  the  plan  I  have  begun  to  delineate,  you  follow 
rules  directly  contrary  to  those  which  are  generally  received ; 
if,  instead  of  transporting  your  pupil's  mind  to  what  is  remote, 
if,  instead  of  making  his  thoughts  wander  unceasingly  in 
other  places,  in  other  climates,  in  other  centuries,  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth,  and  to  the  very  heavens,  you  apply  yourself  to 
keeping  him  always  at  home  and  attentive  to  that  which  comes 
in  immediate  contact  with  him,  you  will  then  find  him  capable 
of  perception,  of  memory,  and  even  of  reason  :  this  is  the  order 


54  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

of  nature.  In  proportion  as  the  sensitive  becomes  an  active 
being,  he  acquires  a  discernment  proportional  to  his  bodily 
powers;  when  he  possesses  more  of  the  latter,  also,  than  are 
necessary  for  his  preservation,  it  is  with  that  redundancy,  and 
not  before,  that  he  displays  those  speculative  faculties  which  are 
adapted  to  the  employment  of  such  abilities  to  other  purposes. 
Are  you  desirous,  therefore,  to  cultivate  the  understanding  of 
your  pupil?  Cultivate  those  abilities  on  which  it  depends. 
Keep  him  in  constant  exercise  of  body ;  bring  him  up  robust 
and  healthy,  in  order  to  make  him  reasonable  and  wise;  let 
him  work,  let  him  run  about,  let  him  make  a  noise,  in  a  word, 
let  him  be  always  active  and  in  motion ;  let  him  be  once  a  man 
in  vigor,  and  he  will  soon  be  a  man  in  understanding." 

Let  us  now  examine  what  provision  was  made,  in  Rousseau's 
system,  for  teaching  the  one  science  for  children,  that  of  moral 
behavior  (des  devoirs  de  I'homme).  His  notions  of  this  science 
were  by  no  means  those  to  which  we  are  accustomed.  As  a 
believer  in  the  goodness  of  human  nature,  he  traced  all  folly, 
vanity,  and  vice  to  ordinary  education,  and  he  would  therefore 
depart  as  widely  as  possible  from  the  usual  course.  "  Examine 
the  rules  of  the  common  method  of  education,"  he  writes,  "  and 
you  will  find  them  all  wrong,  particularly  those  which  relate 
to  virtue  and  manners." 

A  simple  alteration  of  method,  however,  would  not  suffice. 
Rousseau  went  further  than  this.  He  discarded  all  received 
notions  of  goodness,  and  set  up  one  of  his  own  in  their  stead. 
"  The  only  lesson  of  morality  proper  for  children,  and  the  most 
important  to  persons  of  all  ages,  is  never  to  do  an  injury  to 
any  one.  Even  the  positive  precept  of  doing  good;  if  not  made 
subordinate  to  this,  is  dangerous,  false,  and  contradictory.  Who 
is  there  that  does  not  do  good  ?  All  the  world  does  good,  the 
wicked  man  as  well  as  others:  he  makes  one  person  happy  at 
the  expense  of  making  a  hundred  miserable;  hence  arise  all 
our  calamities.  The  most  sublime  virtues  are  negative ;  they 
are  also  the  most  difficult  to  put  in  practice,  because  they  are 
attended  with  no  ostentation,  and  are  even  above  the  pleasure, 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY  OF  "  EMILE"      55 

so  sweet  to  the  heart  of  man,  of  sending  away  others  satisfied 
with  our  benevolence.  O  how  much  good  must,  that  man 
necessarily  do  his  fellow-creatures,  if  such  a  man  there  be,  who 
never  did  any  of  them  harm !  What  intrepidity  of  soul,  what 
constancy  of  mind  are  necessary  here  !  It  is  not,  however,  by 
reasoning  on  this  maxim,  but  by  endeavoring  to  put  it  in  prac- 
tice, that  all  its  difficulty  is  to  be  discovered." 

"  The  precept  of  never  doing  another  harm,  implies  that  of 
having  as  little  to  do  as  possible  with  human  society ;  for  in  the 
social  state  the  good  of  one  man  necessarily  becomes  the  evil  of 
another.  This  relation  is  essential  to  the  thing  itself,  and  can- 
not be  changed.  We  may  inquire,  on  this  principle,  which 
is  best,  man  in  a  state  of  society  or  in  a  state  of  solitude?" 
"  A  certain  noble  author  has  said,  none  but  a  wicked  man 
might  exist  alone :  for  my  part,  I  say,  none  but  a  good 
man  might  exist  alone." 

This  passage  fully  explains  Rousseau's  enthusiasm  for  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  for  he  must  have  regarded  him  as  the  best  and 
most  beneficent  of  mortals.  "  Happy  are  the  people  among 
whom  goodness  requires  no  self-denial,  and  men  may  be  just 
without  virtue."  And  the  fortunate  solitary  had  one  half  of 
goodness  ready  made  for  him.  "  That  which  renders  man 
essentially  good  is  to  have  few  wants,  and  seldom  to  compare 
himself  with  others;  that  which  renders  him  essentially  wicked 
is  to  have  many  wants,  and  to  be  frequently  governed  by 
opinion."  Rousseau,  however,  did  not  vaunt  the  merits  of 
negation  with  absolute  consistency.  Elsewhere  he  says,  "  He 
who  wants  nothing  will  love  nothing,  and  I  cannot  conceive 
that  he  who  loves  nothing  can  be  happy." 

As  Rousseau  found  the  root  of  all  evil  in  the  action  of  man 
upon  man,  he  sought  to  dissever  his  child  of  nature  as  much  as 
possible  from  his  fellow-creatures,  and  to  assimilate  him  to  Rob- 
inson Crusoe.  Anything  like  rule  and  obedience  was  abomi- ' 
nation  to  Rousseau,  and  he  confounds  the  wise  rule  of  superior 
intelligence  with  the  tyranny  of  mere  caprice.  He  writes :  "  We 
always  either  do  that  which  is  pleasing  to  the  child,  or  exact  of 


56  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

him  what  pleases  ourselves ;  either  submitting  to  his  humors  or 
obliging  him  to  submit  to  ours.  There  is  no  medium ;  he  must 
either  give  orders  or  receive  them.  Hence  the  first  ideas  he 
acquires  are  those  of  absolute  rule  and  servitude."  The  great 
panacea  for  all  evils  was,  then,  "  liberty,"  by  which  Rousseau 
understood  independence.  "He  only  performs  the  actions  of 
his  own  will,  who  stands  in  no  need  of  the  assistance  of  others 
to  put  his  designs  in  execution ;  and  hence  it  follows  that  the 
greatest  of  all  blessings  is  not  authority,  but  liberty.  A  man 
truly  free  wills  only  that  which  he  can  do,  and  does  only  that 
which  pleases  him.  This  is  my  fundamental  maxim.  It  need 
only  be  applied  to  childhood,  and  all  the  rules  of  education 
will  naturally  flow  from  it."  "  Whosoever  does  what  he  will  is 
happy,  provided  he  is  capable  of  doing  it  himself;  this  is  the 
case  with  man  in  a  state  of  nature." 

But  a  very  obvious  difficulty  suggests  itself.  A  child  is 
necessarily  the  most  dependent  creature  in  the  world.  How, 
then,  can  he  be  brought  up  in  what  Rousseau  calls  liberty? 
Rousseau  sees  this  difficulty,  and  all  he  can  say  is,  that  as  real 
liberty  is  impossible  for  a  child,  you  must  give  him  sham 
liberty  instead.  "  Let  him  always  be  his  own  master  in  ap- 
pearance, and  do  you  take  care  to  be  so  in  reality.  There  is 
no  subjection  so  complete  as  that  which  preserves  the  appear- 
ance of  liberty ;  it  is  by  this  means  even  the  will  itself  is  led 
captive.  The  poor  child,  who  knows  nothing,  who  is  capable 
of  nothing,  is  surely  sufficiently  at  your  mercy.  Don't  you  dis- 
pose, with  regard  to  him,  of  everything  about  him  ?  Are  not 
you  capable  of  affecting  him  just  as  you  please  ?  His  employ- 
ment, his  sports,  his  pleasures,  his  pains,  are  they  not  all  in 
your  power,  without  his  knowing  it  ?  Assuredly,  he  ought  not 
to  be  compelled  to  do  anything  contrary  to  his  inclinations ; 
but  then  he  ought  not  to  be  inclined  to  do  anything  contrary 
"to  yours ;  he  ought  not  to  take  a  step  which  you  had  not  fore- 
seen, nor  open  his  lips  to  speak  without  your  knowing  what 
he  is  about  to  say.  When  you  have  once  brought  him  under 
such  regulations,  you  may  indulge  him  freely  in  all  those  cor- 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY   OF  "EMILE"      57 

poreal  exercises  which  his  age  requires,  without  running  the 
hazard  of  blunting  his  intellects.  You  will  then  see,  that  in- 
stead of  employing  all  his  subtle  arts  to  shake  off  a  burdensome 
and  disagreeable  tyranny,  he  will  be  busied  only  in  making  the 
best  use  of  everything  about  him.  It  is  in  this  case  you  will 
have  reason  to  be  surprised  at  the  subtilty  of  his  invention, 
and  the  ingenuity  with  which  he  makes  everything  that  is  in 
his  power  contribute  to  his  gratification,  without  being  obliged 
to  prepossession  or  opinion.  In  thus  leaving  him  at  liberty  to 
follow  his  own  will,  you  will  not  augment  his  caprice.  By 
being  accustomed  only  to  do  that  which  is  proper  for  his  state 
and  condition  he  will  soon  do  nothing  but  what  he  ought ;  and 
though  he  should  be  in  continual  motion  of  body,  yet,  while  he 
is  employed  only  in  the  pursuit  of  his  present  and  apparent 
interest,  you  will  find  his  reasoning  faculties  display  themselves 
better,  and  in  a  manner  more  peculiar  to  himself,  than  if  he 
were  engaged  in  studies  of  pure  speculation." 

After  this  astonishing  passage  the  reader  will  probably  con- 
sider Rousseau's  opinions  of  moral  behavior  mere  matters  of 
curiosity.  Yet  some  of  his  advice  is  well  worth  considering. 

Although  children  should  be  made  happy,  they  should  by  no 
means  be  shielded  from  every  possible  hurt.  "  The  first  thing 
we  ought  to  learn,  and  that  which  it  is  of  the  greatest  conse- 
quence for  us  to  know,  is  to  suffer.  It  seems  as  if  children 
were  formed  little  and  feeble  to  learn  this  important  lesson 
without  danger."  "  Excessive  severity,  as  well  as  excessive  in- 
dulgence, should  be  equally  avoided.  If  you  leave  children  to 
suffer,  you  expose  their  health,  endanger  their  lives,  and  make 
them  actually  miserable ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  you  are  too 
anxious  to  prevent  their  being  sensible  of  any  kind  of  pain  and 
inconvenience,  you  only  pave  their  way  to  feel  much  greater ; 
you  enervate  their  constitutions,  make  them  tender  and  effemi- 
nate ;  in  a  word,  you  remove  them  out  of  their  situation  as 
human  beings,  into  which  they  must  hereafter  return  in  spite 
of  all  your  solicitude." 

His  advice  on  firmness  is  also  good.     "  When  the  child  desires 


58  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

what  is  necessary,  you  ought  to  know  and  immediately  comply 
with  his  request ;  but  to  be  induced  to  do  anything  by  his  tears,  is 
to  encourage  him  to  cry;  it  is  to  teach  him  to  doubt  your  good- 
will, and  to  think  you  are  influenced  more  by  importunity  than 
benevolence.  Beware  of  this,  for  if  your  child  once  comes  to 
imagine  you  are  not  of  a  good  disposition,  he  will  soon  be  of  a 
bad  one ;  if  he  once  thinks  you  complain,  he  will  soon  grow 
obstinate.  You  should  comply  with  his  request  immediately  if 
you  do  not  intend  to  refuse  it.  Mortify  him  not  with  frequent 
denials,  but  never  revoke  a  refusal  once  made  him."  Caprice, 
whether  of  the  governor  or  of  the  child,  is  carefully  to  be 
shunned. 

"  There  is  an  innate  sense  of  right  and  wrong  implanted  in 
the  human  heart."  In  proof  of  this,  he  gives  an  anecdote  of  an 
infant  who  almost  screamed  to  death  on  receiving  a  blow  from 
the  nurse.  "  I  am  very  certain,"  he  says,  "  had  a  burning  coal 
fallen  by  accident  on  the  hand  of  the  child,  it  would  have  been 
less  agitated  than  by  this  slight  blow,  given  with  a  manifest 
intention  to  hurt  it." 

For  punishments  he  gives  a  hint  which  has  been  worked  out 
by  Mr.  H.  Spencer.  "  Oppose  to  his  indiscreet  desires  only 
physical  obstacles,  or  the  inconveniences  naturally  arising  from 
the  actions  themselves;  these  he  will  remember  on  a  future  occa- 
sion." 

Even  in  the  matter  of  liberty,  about  which  no  one  disagrees 
more  heartily  with  Rousseau  than  I  do,  we  may,  I  think,  learn 
a  lesson  from  him.  "  Emile  acts  from  his  own  thoughts,  and 
not  from  the  dictation  of  others."  "  If  your  head  always  directs 
your  pupil's  hands,  his  own  head  will  become  useless  to  him." 
There  is  a  great  truth  in  this.  While  differing  so  far  from 
Rousseau,  that  I  should  require  the  most  implicit  obedience 
from  boys,  I  feel  that  we  must  give  them  a  certain  amount  of 
independent  action  and  freedom  from  restraint,  as  a  means  of 
education.  In  many  of  our  private  schools,  a  boy  is  hardly 
called  upon  to  exercise  his  will  all  day  long.  He  rises  in  the 
morning  when  he  must ;  at  meals,  he  eats  till  he  is  obliged  to 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY  OF  "  EMILE"     59 

stop ;  he  is  taken  out  for  exercise  like  a  horse ;  he  has  all  his 
indoor  work  prescribed  for  him,  both  as  to  time  and  quantity. 

Thus  a  boy  grows  up  without  having  any  occasion  to  think 
or  act  for  himself.  He  is  therefore  without  self-reliance.  So 
much  care  is  taken  to  prevent  his  doing  wrong,  that  he  gets  to 
think  only  of  checks  from  without.  He  is  therefore  incapable 
of  self-restraint.  Our  public  schools  give  more  "  liberty,"  and 
turn  out  better  men. 

We  will  now  suppose  the  child  to  have  reached  the  age  of 
twelve,  a  proficient  in  ignorance.  His  education  must  at  this 
period  alter  entirely.  The  age  for  learning  has  arrived.  "  Give 
me  a  child  of  twelve  years  of  age,  who  knows  nothing  at  all, 
and  at  fifteen  I  will  return  him  to  you  as  learned  as  any  that 
you  may  have  instructed  earlier ;  with  this  difference,  that  the 
knowledge  of  yours  will  be  only  in  his  memory,  and  that  of 
mine  will  be  in  his  judgment."  "  To  what  use  is  it  proper  a 
child  should  put  that  redundancy  of  abilities,  of  which  he  is  at 
present  possessed,  and  which  will  fail  him  at  another  age  ?  He 
should  employ  it  on  those  things  which  may  be  of  utility  in 
time  to  come.  He  should  throw,  if  I  may  so  express  myself, 
the  superfluity  of  his  present  being  into  the  future.  The  robust 
child  should  provide  for  the  subsistence  of  the  feeble  man ;  not 
in  laying  up  his  treasure  in  coffers  whence  thieves  may  steal, 
nor  by  intrusting  it  to  the  hands  of  others ;  but  by  keeping  it 
in  his  own.  To  appropriate  his  acquisitions  to  himself  he  will 
secure  them  in  the  strength  and  dexterity  of  his  own  arms,  and 
in  the  capacity  of  his  own  head.  This,  therefore,  is  the  time 
for  employment,  for  instruction,  for  study.  Observe,  also,  that 
I  have  not  arbitrarily  fixed  on  this  period  for  that  purpose; 
nature  itself  plainly  points  it  out  to  us." 

The  education  of  Emile  was  to  be,  to  use  the  language  of  the 
present  day,  scientific,  not  literary.  Rousseau  professed  a  hatred 
of  books,  which  he  said  kept  the  student  so  long  engaged  upon 
the  thoughts  of  other  people  as  to  have  no  time  to  make  a  store 
of  his  own.  "  The  abuse  of  reading  is  destructive  to  knowl- 
edge. Imagining  ourselves  to  know  everything  we  read,  we 


60  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

conceive  it  unnecessary  to  learn  it  by  other  means.  Too  much 
reading,  however,  serves  only  to  make  us  presumptuous  block- 
heads. Of  all  the  ages  in  which  literature  has  flourished, 
reading  was  never  so  universal  as  in  the  present,  nor  were  men 
in  general  ever  so  ignorant." 

Even  science  was  to  be  studied,  not  so  much  with  a  view  to 
knowledge  as  to  intellectual  vigor.  "  You  will  remember  it  is 
my  constant  maxim,  not  to  teach  the  boy  a  multiplicity  of 
things,  but  to  prevent  his  acquiring  any  but  clear  and  precise 
ideas.  His  knowing  nothing  does  not  much  concern  me,  pro- 
vided he  does  not  deceive  himself." 

Again  he  says :  "  Emile  has  but  little  knowledge ;  but  what 
he  has  is  truly  his  own ;  he  knows  nothing  by  halves.  Among 
the  few  things  he  knows,  and  knows  well,  the  most  important  is, 
that  there  are  many  things  which  he  is  now  ignorant  of,  and 
which  he  may  one  day  know ;  that  there  are  many  more  which 
some  men  know  and  he  never  will ;  and  that  there  is  an  infinity 
of  others  which  neither  he  nor  anybody  else  will  ever  know.  He 
possesses  a  universal  capacity,  not  in  point  of  actual  knowledge, 
but  in  the  faculty  of  acquiring  it;  an  open,  intelligent  genius, 
adapted  to  everything,  and,  as  Montaigne  says,  if  not  instructed, 
capable  of  receiving  instruction.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  that 
he  knows  how  to  discover  the  utility  of  his  actions,  and  the 
reason  for  his  opinions.  Once  again,  I  say,  my  object  is  not 
to  furnish  his  mind  with  knowledge,  but  to  teach  him  the 
method  of  acquiring  it  when  he  has  occasion  for  it ;  to  instruct 
him  how  to  hold  it  in  estimation,  and  to  inspire  him,  above  all, 
with  a  love  for  truth.  By  this  method,  indeed,  we  make  no 
great  advances ;  but  then  we  never  take  a  useless  step,  nor  are 
we  obliged  to  turn  back  again." 

The  method  of  learning,  therefore,  was  to  be  chosen  with 
the  view  of  bringing  out  the  pupil's  powers ;  and  the  subjects 
of  instruction  were  to  be  sufficiently  varied  to  give  the  pupil  a 
notion  of  the  connection  between  various  branches  of  knowl- 
edge, and  to  ascertain  the  direction  in  which  his  taste  and  talent 
would  lead  him 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND   SUMMARY  OF  "  EMILE"      61 

The  first  thing  to  be  aimed  at  is  to  excite  a  desire  for  knowl- 
edge. "  Direct  the  attention  of  your  pupil  to  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  and  you  will  soon  awaken  his  curiosity ;  but  to  keep 
that  curiosity  alive,  you  must  be  in  no  haste  to  satisfy  it.  Put 
questions  to  him  adapted  to  his  capacity,  and  leave  him  to 
resolve  them.  He  is  not  to  know  anything  because  you  have 
told  it  to  him,  but  because  he  has  himself  comprehended  it;  he 
should  not  learn,  but  discover  science.  If  ever  you  substitute 
authority  in  the  place  of  argument,  he  will  reason  no  longer ; 
he  will  be  ever  afterward  bandied  like  a  shuttlecock  between 
the  opinions  of  others." 

Curiosity,  when  aroused,  should  be  fostered  by  suspense,  and 
the  tutor  must,  above  all  things,  avoid  what  Mr.  Wilson,  of 
Rugby,  has  lately  called  "  didactic  teaching."  "  I  do  not  at 
all  admire  explanatory  discourses,"  says  Rousseau ;  "  young 
people  give  little  attention  to  them,  and  never  retain  them  in 
memory.  The  things  themselves  are  the  best  explanations.  I 
can  never  enough  repeat  it,  that  we  make  words  of  too  much 
consequence ;  with  our  prating  modes  of  education  we  make 
nothing  but  praters." 

The  grand  thing  to  be  educed  was  self -teaching.  "  Obliged  to 
learn  of  himself,  the  pupil  makes  use  of  his  own  reason,  and 
not  of  that  of  others;  for  to  give  no  influence  to  opinion,  no 
weight  should  be  given  to  authority ;  and  it  is  certain  that  our 
errors  arise  less  from  ourselves  than  from  others.  From  this 
continual  exercise  of  the  understanding  will  result  a  vigor  of 
mind,  like  that  which  we  give  the  body  by  labor  and  fatigue. 
Another  advantage  is,  that  we  advance  only  in  proportion  to 
our  strength.  The  mind,  like  the  body,  carries  that  only  which 
it  can  carry.  But  when  the  understanding  appropriates  every- 
thing before  it  commits  it  to  the  memory,  whatever  it  afterward 
draws  from  thence  is  properly  its  own ;  whereas,  in  overcharg- 
ing the  mind  without  the  knowledge  of  the  understanding,  we 
expose  ourselves  to  the  inconvenience  of  never  drawing  out 
anything  which  belongs  to  us." 

Again  he  writes :  "  We  acquire,  without  doubt,  notions  more 


62  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU 

clear  and  certain  of  things  we  thus  learn  of  ourselves  than  of 
those  we  are  taught  by  others.  Another  advantage  also  result- 
ing from  this  method  is,  that  we  do  not  accustom  ourselves  to  a 
servile  submission  to  the  authority  of  others;  but,  by  exercising 
our  reason,  grow  every  day  more  ingenious  in  the  discovery  of 
the  relations  of  things,  in  connecting  our  ideas  and  in  the  con- 
trivance of  machines;  whereas,  by  adopting  those  which  are 
put  into  our  hands,  our  invention  grows  dull  and  indifferent, 
as  the  man  who  never  dresses  himself,  but  is  served  in  every- 
thing by  his  servants,  and  drawn  about  everywhere,  by  his 
horses,  loses  by  degrees  the  activity  and  use  of  his  limbs.  Boi- 
leau  boasted  that  he  had  taught  Racine  to  rhyme  with  difficulty. 
Among  the  many  admirable  methods  taken  to  abridge  the 
study  of  the  sciences,  we  are  in  great  want  of  one  to  make  us 
learn  them  with  effort." 

Following  in  the  steps  of  Locke,  Rousseau  required  his  model 
pupil  to  learn  a  trade.  But  this  was  not  to  be  acquired  as  a 
mere  amusement.  First,  Rousseau  required  it  to  secure  the 
self-dependence  of  his  pupil,  and  secondly,  to  improve  his  head 
as  well  as  his  hands.  "  If,  instead  of  keeping  a  boy  poring  over 
books,  I  employ  him  in  a  workshop,  his  hands  will  be  busied 
to  the  improvement  of  his  understanding;  he  will  become  a 
philosopher,  while  he  thinks  himself  only  an  artisan." 

I  hope  the  quotations  I  have  now  given  will  suffice  to  con- 
vey to  the  reader  some  of  Rousseau's  main  ideas  on  the  subject 
of  education.  The  "  Emile  "  was  once  a  popular  book  in  this 
country.  In  David  Williams's  lectures  (dated  1789)  we  read, 
"  Rousseau  is  in  full  possession  of  public  attention.  ...  To 
be  heard  on  the  subject  of  education  it  is  expedient  to  direct  our 
observations  to  his  works."  But  now  the  case  is  different.  In 
the  words  of  Mr.  Herman  Merivale,  "  Rousseau  was  dethroned 
with  the  fall  of  his  extravagant  child,  the  Republic."  Perhaps 
we  have  been  less  influenced  by  both  father  and  child  than 
any  nation  of  Europe ;  and  if  so,  we  owe  this  to  our  horror  of 
extravagance.  The  English  intellect  is  eminently  decorous,  and 
Rousseau's  disregard  for  "  appearances,"  or  rather  his  evident 


QUICK'S  ADAPTATION  AND  SUMMARY  OF  "EMILE"      63 

purpose  of  making  an  impression  by  defying  "  appearances  " 
and  saying  just  the  opposite  of  what  is  expected,  simply  dis- 
tresses it.  Hence,  the  "  Emile  "  has  long  ceased  to  be  read  in 
this  country,  and  the  only  English  translation  I  have  met  with 
was  published  in  the  last  century,  and  has  not  been  reprinted. 
So  Rousseau  now  works  upon  us  only  through  his  disciples, 
especially  Pestalozzi ;  but  the  reader  will  see  from  the  passages 
I  have  selected  that  we  have  often  listened  to  Rousseau  un- 
awares. 

The  truths  of  the  "  Emile  "  will  survive  the  fantastic  forms 
which  are  there  forced  upon  them.  Of  these  truths,  one  of  the 
most  important,  to  my  mind,  is  the  distinction  drawn  between 
childhood  and  youth.  I  do  not,  of  course,  insist  with  Rousseau 
that  a  child  should  be  taught  nothing  till  the  day  on  which  he 
is  twelve  years  old,  and  then  that  instruction  should  begin  all 
at  once.  There  is  no  hard  and  fast  line  that  can  be  drawn 
between  the  two  stages  of  development;  the  change  from  one  to 
the  other  is  gradual  and,  in  point  of  time,  differs  greatly  with 
the  individual.  But,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said,  I  believe  the  dif- 
ference between  the  child  and  the  youth  to  be  greater  than  the 
difference  between  the  youth  and  the  man ;  and  I  believe, 
further,  that  this  is  far  too  much  overlooked  in  our  ordinary 
education.  Rousseau,  by  drawing  attention  to  the  sleep  of  rea- 
son and  to  the  activity  and  vigor  of  the  senses  in  childhood, 
became  one  of  the  most  important  educational  reformers,  and 
a  benefactor  of  mankind. 


WILLIAM     SHENSTONE 

1  714-1  763 

WILLIAM  SHENSTONE  was  born  at  the  Leasowes,  in  Shropshire,  Eng- 
land, in  1714.  His  school-days  were  passed  in  his  native  village,  amid 
scenes  which  he  has  described  in  poems  of  much  grace  and  beauty. 
For  ten  years  he  studied  at  Pembroke  College,  Oxford.  Here,  from 
time  to  time,  he  published  small  books  of  lyrics,  which  were  well  re- 
ceived. In  1745  he  took  up  his  permanent  residence  on  his  ancestral 
estate  of  the  Leasowes,  which  he  embellished  with  every  adjunct  of 
beauty  and  taste.  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  referring  to  the  return  of 
Shenstone  to  the  Leasowes,  says:  "Now  was  excited  his  delight  in 
real  pleasures,  and  his  ambition  of  rural  elegance.  He  began  from 
this  time  to  point  his  prospects,  to  diversify  his  surface,  to  entangle  his 
walks,  and  to  wind  his  waters  ;  which  he  did  with  such  judgment  and 
such  fancy,  as  made  his  little  domain  the  envy  of  the  great  and  the 
admiration  of  the  skillful,  a  place  to  be  visited  by  travelers  and  copied 
by  designers."  Unfortunately,  Sheustone  did  not  calculate  the  cost  of 
the  work  he  had  undertaken  until  he  found  himself  hopelessly  in- 
volved in  debt.  The  estate  was  sacrificed  to  pay  for  its  adornment, 
and  the  last  days  of  the  poet  were  clouded  with  care  and  sorrow,  which 
doubtless  hastened  his  end.  He  died  in  1763. 

Characterization 

The  inimitable  "Schoolmistress"  of  Shenstone  is  one  of  the  felici- 
ties of  genius  ;  but  the  purpose  of  this  poem  has  been  entirely  miscon- 
ceived. Johnson,  acknowledging  this  charming  effusion  to  be  "the 
most  pleasing  of  Shenstone's  productions,"  observes,  "I  know  not 
what  claim  it  has  to  stand  among  the  moral  works."  The  truth  is,  that 
it  was  intended  for  quite  a  different  purpose  by  the  author,  and  Dods- 
ley,  the  editor  of  his  works,  must  have  strangely  blundered  in  desig- 
nating it  "  a  moral  poem."  It  may  be  classed  with  a  species  of  poetry 
till  recently  rare  in  our  language,  and  which  we  sometimes  find  among 
the  Italians  in  their  rime  piacevoli,  or  poesie  burlesche,  which  does 
not  always  consist  of  low  humor  in  a  facetious  style,  with  jingling 
rhymes,  to  which  form  we  attach  our  idea  of  a  burlesque  poem.  There 
64 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  65 

is  a  refined  species  of  ludicrous  poetry  which  is  comic  yet  tender,  lusory 
yet  elegant,  and  with  such  a  blending  of  the  serious  and  the  face- 
tious that  the  result  of  such  a  poem  may  often,  among  its  other  pleas- 
ures, produce  a  sort  of  ambiguity  ;  so  that  we  do  not  always  know 
whether  the  writer  is  laughing  at  his  subject,  or  whether  he  is  to  be 
laughed  at.  The  admirable  Whistlecraft '  met  this  fate.  "The 
Schoolmistress "  of  Shenstone  has  been  admired  for  its  exquisitely 
ludicrous  turn.  This  discovery  I  owe  to  the  good  fortune  of  possessing 
the  original  edition  of  "The  Schoolmistress,'1  which  the  author  printed 
under  his  own  directions,  and  to  his  own  fancy.  To  this  piece  of 
ludicrous  poetry,  as  he  calls  it,  "  lest  it  should  be  mistaken,"  he  added 
a  ludicrous  index,  "partly  to  show  fools  that  I  am  in  jest."  But  "the 
fool,"  his  subsequent  editor,  who,  I  regret  to  say,  was  Robert  Dodsley, 
thought  proper  to  suppress  this  amusing  "Ludicrous  Index,"  and  the 
consequence  is,  as  the  poet  foresaw,  that  his  aim  has  been  mistaken. 

ISAAC  DISRAELI. 

But  with  all  the  beauties  of  the  Leasowes  in  our  minds,  it  may  still 
be  regretted  that,  instead  of  devoting  his  whole  soul  to  clumping 
beeches  and  projecting  mottoes  for  summer-houses,  he  had  not  gone 
more  into  living  nature  for  subjects,  and  described  her  interesting 
realities  with  the  same  fond  and  natural  touches  which  give  so  much 
delightfulness  to  his  portrait  of  "  The  Schoolmistress." 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

The  Schoolmistress2 


Ah  me !  full  sorely  is  my  heart  forlorn, 
To  think  how  modest  worth  neglected  lies ; 
While  partial  fame  doth  with  her  blasts  adorn 
Such  deeds  alone  as  pride  and  pomp  disguise ; 

1  "  Whistlecraft,"  the  nom  de  plume  of  J.  Hookham  Frere  (1769-1841)),  an 
English  diplomatist  and  poet,  author  of  exquisite  humorous  compositions,  comic 
and  serious  by  turns. 

2  The  schoolmistress  portrayed  is  Dame  Sarah  Lloyd,  the  "  school-dame  "  of 
the  poet  in  his  early  years.     Shenstone  designed  to  have  for  an  illustration  of 
the  poem  a  comic  portrait  of  this  since-famous  personage. 

The  veritable  schoolhouse  of  Dame  Sarah,  with  its  thatched  roof,  formed  the 
frontispiece  of  the  original  edition  of  the  poem.  The  "birch  tree  "  in  front  was 
gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  Shenstone  was  disgusted  with  the  picture 
and  with  his  artist,  and  declared  the  "setting  sun"  to  be  "a  falling  monster." 

8.  M. — 5 


66  WILLIAM  SHENSTONE 

Deeds  of  ill  sort,  and  mischievous  ernprize: 
Lend  me  thy  clarion,  goddess  !  let  me  try 
To  sound  the  praise  of  merit,  ere  it  dies ; 
Such  as  I  oft  have  chanced  to  espy, 
Lost  in  the  dreary  shades  of  dull  obscurity. 

ii. 

In  every  village  maVk'd  with  little  spire, 
Embower'd  in  trees  and  hardly  known  to  fame, 
There  dwells,  in  lowly  shed  and  mean  attire, 
A  matron  old,  whom  we  schoolmistress  name  ; 
Who  boasts  unruly  brats  with  birch  to  tame ; 
They  grieven  sore,  in  piteous  durance  pent, 
Awed  by  the  pow'r  of  this  relentless  dame ; 
And  oft-times,  on  vagaries  idly  bent, 
For  unkempt  hair,  or  task  unconn'd,  are  sorely  shent. 

in. 

And  all  in  sight  doth  rise  a  birchen  tree, 
Which  learning  near  her  little  dome  did  stow ; 
Whilom  a  twig  of  small  regard  to  see, 
Tho'  now  so  wide  its  waving  branches  flow ; 
And  work  the  simple  vassals  mickle  woe ; 
For  not  a  wind  might  curl  the  leaves  that  blew 
But  their  limbs  shudder'd,  and  their  pulse  beat  low; 
And  as  they  look'd  they  found  their  horror  grew, 
And  shaped  it  into  rods,  and  tingled  at  the  view. 


v. 

Near  to  this  dome  is  found  a  patch  so  green, 
On  which  the  tribe  their  gambols  do  display ; 
And  at  the  door  impris'ning  board  is  seen, 
Lest  weakly  wights  of  smaller  size  should  stray ; 
Eager,  perdie,  to  bask  in  sunny  day ! 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  67 

The  noises  intermix'd,  which  thence  resound, 
Do  learning's  little  tenement  betray ; 
Where  sits  the  darne,  disguised  in  look  profound, 
And  eyes  her  fairy  throng,  and  turns  her  wheel  around. 

VI. 

Her  cap,  far  whiter  than  the  driven  snow, 
Emblem  right  meet  of  decency  does  yield : 
Her  apron  dyed  in  grain,  as  blue,  I  trow, 
As  is  the  harebell  that  adorns  the  field  : 
And  in  her  hand,  for  scepter,  she  does  wield 
Tway  birchen  sprays ;  with  anxious  fear  entwined 
With  dark  distrust,  and  sad  repentance  fill'd ; 
And  steadfast  hate,  and  sharp  affliction  join'd, 
And  fury  uncontroll'd,  and  chastisement  unkind. 


VIII. 

A  russet  stole  was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown ; 
A  russet  kirtle  fenced  the  nipping  air ; 
Twas  simple  russet,  but  it  was  her  own ; 
'Twas  her  own  country  bred  the  flock  so  fair, 
'Twas  her  own  labor  did  the  fleece  prepare : 
And,  sooth  to  say,  her  pupils,  ranged  around, 
Through  pious  awe,  did  term  it  passing  rare ; 
For  they  in  gaping  wonderment  abound, 
And  think,  no  doubt,  she  been  the  greatest  wight  on  ground. 

IX. 

Albeit  ne  flattery  did  corrupt  her  truth, 

Ne  pompous  title  did  debauch  her  ear ; 

Goody,  good-woman,  gossip,  n'aunt,  forsooth, 

Or  dame,  the  sole  additions  she  did  hear ; 

Yet  these  she  challenged,  these  she  held  right  dear, 


68  WILLIAM  SHENSTONE 

Ne  would  esteem  him  act  as  mought  behove, 
Who  should  not  honor'd'eld  with  these  revere: 
For  never  title  yet  so  mean  could  prove, 
But  there  was  eke  a  mind  which  did  that  title  love. 


x. 

One  ancient  hen  she  took  delight  to  feed, 
The  plodding  pattern  of  the  busy  dame : 
Which,  ever  and  anon,  impell'd  by  need, 
Into  her  school,  begirt  with  chickens,  came ; 
Such  favor  did  her  past  deportment  claim ; 
And,  if  neglect  had  lavish 'd  on  the  ground 
Fragment  of  bread,  she  would  collect  the  same ; 
For  well  she  knew,  and  quaintly  could  expound, 
What  sin  it  were  to  waste  the  smallest  crumb  she  found. 


XI. 

Herbs,  too,  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could  speak 
That  in  her  garden  sipp'd  the  silv'ry  dew ; 
Where  no  vain  flow'r  disclosed  a  gaudy  streak ; 
But  herbs  for  use,  and  physic,  not  a  few, 
Of  grey  renown,  within  those  borders  grew. 
The  tufted  basil,  pun-provoking  thyme, 
Fresh  balm,  and  marygold  of  cheerful  hue ; 
The  lowly  gill  that  never  dares  to  climb ; 
And  more  I  fain  would  sing,  disdaining  here  to  rhyme. 


XII. 

Yet  euphrasy,  may  not  be  left  unsung, 

That  gives  dim  eyes  to  wander  leagues  around  ; 

And  pungent  radish  biting  infant's  tongue ; 

And  plantain  ribb'd,  that  heals  the  reaper's  wound; 

And  marj'ram  sweet,  in  shepherd's  posy  found; 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS 

And  lavender,  whose  spikes  of  azure  bloom 
Shall  be,  ere-while,  in  arid  bundles  bound, 
To  lurk  amidst  the  labors  of  her  loom, 
And  crown  her  kerchiefs  clean  with  mickle  rare  perfume. 

XIII. 

And  here  trim  rosemarine,  that  whilom  crown'd 
The  daintiest  garden  of  the  proudest  peer ; 
Ere,  driven  from  its  envied  site,  it  found 
A  sacred  shelter  for  its  branches  here ; 
Where  edged  with  gold  its  glitt'ring  skirts  appear. 
0  wassel  days  !     0  customs  meet  and  well ! 
Ere  this  was  banish'd  from  his  lofty  sphere, 
Simplicity  then  sought  this  humble  cell, 
Nor  ever  would  she  more  with  thane  and  lordling  dwell. 


XVI. 

In  elbow-chair,  like  that  of  Scottish  stem 
By  the  sharp  tooth  of  cank'ring  eld  defaced, 
In  which,  when  he  receives  his  diadem, 
Our  sov'reign  prince  and  liefest  liege  is  placed, 
The  matron  sate ;  and  some  with  rank  she  graced 
(The  source  of  children's  and  of  courtier's  pride). 
Redress'd  affronts,  for  vile  affronts  there  pass'd ; 
And  warn'd  them  not  the  fretful  to  deride, 
But  love  each  other  dear,  whatever  them  betide. 

XVII. 

Right  well  she  knew  each  temper  to  descry ; 
To  thwart  the  proud,  and  the  submiss  to  raise ; 
Some  with  vile  copper-prize  exalt  on  high, 
And  some  entice  with  pittance  small  of  praise ; 
And  other  some  with  baleful  sprig  she  'frays. 


70  WILLIAM  8HEN8TONE 

Ev'n  absent,  she  the  reins  of  power  doth  hold, 
While  with  quaint  arts  the  giddy  crowd  she  sways, 
Forewarn'd,  if  little  bird  their  pranks  behold, 
'Twill  whisper  in  her  ear,  and  all  the  scene  unfold. 

XVIII. 

Lo  now  with  state  she  utters  the  command  ! 
Eftsoons  the  urchins  to  their  tasks  repair ; 
Their  books  of  stature  small  they  take  in  hand, 
Which  with  pellucid  horn  secured  are, 
To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair. 
The  work  so  gay,  that  on  their  back  is  seen, 
St.  George's  high  achievements  does  declare ; 
On  which  thilk  *  wight  that  has  y-gazing  been 
Kens  the  forth-coming  rod,  unpleasing  sight,  I  ween  I 


xx. 

0  ruthful  scene !  when,  from  a  nook  obscure, 
His  little  sister  doth  his  peril  see. 
All  playful  as  she  sate  she  grows  demure ; 
She  finds  full  soon  her  wonted  spirits  flee ; 
She  meditates  a  pray'r  to  set  him  free. 
Nor  gentle  pardon  could  this  dame  deny 
(If  gentle  pardon  could  with  dames  agree) 
To  her  sad  grief  that  swells  in  either  eye, 
And  wrings  her  so  that  all  for  pity  she  could  die. 

XXI. 

No  longer  can  she  now  her  shrieks  command ; 

And  hardly  she  forbears  thro'  awful  fear 

To  rushen  forth,  and,  with  presumptuous  hand, 

To  stay  hard  justice  in  its  mid  career. 

On  thee  she  calls,  on  thee,  her  parent  dear 

1  that,  or  such 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  71 

(Ah !  too  remote  to  ward  the  shameful  blow). 
She  sees  no  kind  domestic  visage  near, 
And  soon  a  flood  of  tears  begins  to  flow, 
And  gives  a  loose  at  last  to  unavailing  woe. 

XXII. 

But  ah,  what  pen  his  piteous  plight  may  trace? 
Or  what  device  his  loud  laments  explain 
The  form  uncouth  of  his  disguised  face  ? 
The  pallid  hue  that  dyes  his  looks  amain  ? 
The  plenteous  shower  that  does  his  cheek  distain  ? 
When  he,  in  abject  wise,  implores  the  dame, 
Ne  hopeth  aught  of  sweet  reprieve  to  gain ; 
Or  when  from  high  she  levels  well  her  aim, 
And  through  the  thatch  his  cries  each  falling  stroke  proclaim. 

XXIII. 

The  other  tribe,  aghast,  with  sore  dismay 
Attend,  and  con  their  tasks  with  mickle  care ; 
By  turns  astonied,  ev'ry  twig  survey, 
And  from  their  fellow's  hateful  wounds  beware; 
Knowing,  I  wist,  how  each  the  same  may  share ; 
Till  fear  has  taught  them  a  performance  meet, 
And  to  the  well-known  chest  the  dame  repair ; 
Whence  oft  with  sugar'd  cates  she  doth  'em  greet, 
And  ginger-bread  y-rare ;  now  certes  doubly  sweet ! 


XXVI. 

Behind  some  door,  in  melancholy  thought, 
Mindless  of  food,  he,  dreary  caitiff !  pines ; 
Ne  for  his  fellow's  joyaunce  careth  aught, 
But  to  the  wind  all  merriment  resigns  ; 
And  deems  it  shame  if  he  to  peace  inclines ; 


72  WILLIAM  SHENSTONE 

And  many  a  sullen  look  askance  is  sent, 
Which  for  his  dame's  annoyance  he  designs ; 
And  still  the  more  to  pleasure  him  she's  bent, 
The  more  doth  he,  perverse,  her  'havior  past  resent. 

XXVII. 

Ah  me !  how  much  I  fear  lest  pride  it  be ! 
But  if  that  pride  it  be  which  thus  inspires, 
Beware,  ye  dames,  with  nice  discernment  see, 
Ye  quench  not  too  the  sparks  of  nobler  fires: 
Ah !  better  far  than  all  the  muses'  lyres, 
All  coward  arts,  is  valor's  gen'rous  heat ; 
The  firm  fixt  breast  which  fit  and  right  requires, 
Like  Vernon's  patriot  soul ;  more  justly  great 
Than  craft  that  pimps  for  ill,  or  flow'ry  false  deceit. 

XXVIII. 

Yet,  nursed  with  skill,  what  dazzling  fruits  appear ! 
Ev'n  now  sagacious  foresight  points  to  show 
A  little  bench  of  heedless  bishops  here, ' 
And  there  a  chancellor  in  embryo, 
Or  bard  sublime,  if  bard  may  e'er  be  so, 
As  Milton,  Shakespeare,  names  that  ne'er  shall  die ! 
Tho'  now  he  crawl  along  the  ground  so  low, 
Nor  weeting  how  the  muse  should  soar  on  high, 
Wisheth,  poor  starv'ling  elf!  his  paper  kite  may  fly. 


1  Of  these  lines,  which  contain  so  pleasing  a  picture  of  ' '  genius  in  its  in:  ancy, " 
Isaac  D'Israeli  says  :  "  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  far-famed  stanza  in  '  Gray's 
Elegy,'  where  he  discovers  men  of  genius  in  peasants,  as  Shenstone  has  in 
children,  was  suggested  by  this  original  conception. 

"  '  Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood,' 

is,  to  me,  a  congenial  thought,  with  an  echoed  turn  of  expression  from  the  lines 
of  '  The  Schoolmistress.' " 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  73 

XXX. 

But  now  Dan  Phoebus  gains  the  middle  sky, 
And  Liberty  unbars  her  prison-door ; 
And  like  a  rushing  torrent  out  they  fly, 
And  now  the  grassy  cirque  han  cover'd  o'er 
With  boist'rous  revel-rout  and  wild  uproar ; 
A  thousand  ways  in  wanton  rings  they  run ; 
Heav'n  shield  their  short-lived  pastimes,  I  implore  I 
For  well  may  freedom,  erst  so  dearly  won, 
Appear  to  British  elf  more  gladsome  than  the  sun. 


THOMAS    FULLER 

16O8-1661 

THOMAS  FULLER,  a  distinguished  clergyman  and  a  voluminous 
writer,  was  born  in  1608,  at  Aldwinkle,  in  Northamptonshire,  Eng- 
land— which  was,  later,  the  birthplace  of  Dry  den.  Fuller  was  pre- 
cocious in  youth,  and  entered  Queen's  College,  Cambridge,  at  the  age 
of  twelve  years.  He  was  a  chaplain  in  the  royal  army  and,  after 
the  Restoration,  was  appointed  chaplain  extraordinary  to  the  king. 
Among  his  most  valuable  works  are  church  histories  and  biographical 
sketches. 

Characterization 

There  was  in  Thomas  Fuller  a  combination  of  those  qualities  which 
minister  to  our  entertainment,  such  as  few  have  ever  possessed  in  an 
equal  degree.  He  was,  first  of  all,  a  man  of  multifarious  reading,  of 
great  and  digested  knowledge,  which  an  extraordinary  retentiveness 
of  memory  preserved  ever  ready  for  use,  and  considerable  accuracy  of 
judgment  enabled  him  successfully  to  apply.  So  well  does  he  vary 
his  treasures  of  memory  and  observation,  so  judiciously  does  he  inter- 
weave his  anecdotes,  quotations,  and  remarks,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
conceive  a  more  delightful  checker- work  of  acute  thought  and  apposite 
illustration  of  original  and  extracted  sentiment  than  is  presented  in 
his  works. 

''RETROSPECTIVE  REVIEW." 


Selections 
1.  THE  G-OOD  SCHOOLMASTER 

There  is  scarce  any  profession  in  the  commonwealth  more 
necessary,  which  is  so  slightly  performed.  The  reasons  whereof 
I  conceive  to  be  these :  First,  young  scholars  make  this  calling 
their  refuge ;  yea,  perchance,  before  they  have  taken  any  degree 
in  the  university,  commence  schoolmasters  in  the  country,  as  if 
nothing  else  were  required  to  set  up  this  profession  but  only  a 
74 


SELECTIONS  76 

rod  and  a  ferula.  Secondly,  others  who  are  able  use  it  only  as 
a  passage  to  better  preferment,  to  patch  the  rents  in  their  pres- 
ent fortune,  till  they  can  provide  a  new  one,  and  betake  them- 
selves to  some  more  gainful  calling.  Thirdly,  they  are  disheart- 
ened from  doing  their  best  with  the  miserable  reward  which  in 
some  places  they  receive,  being  masters  to  their  children  and 
slaves  to  their  parents.  Fourthly,  being  grown  rich  they  grow 
negligent,  and  scorn  to  touch  the  school  but  by  the  proxy  of  the 
usher.  But  see  how  well  our  schoolmaster  behaves  himself. 

His  genius  inclines  him  with  delight  to  his  profession.  God 
of  his  goodness  hath  fitted  several  men  for  several  callings,  that 
the  necessity  of  church  and  state,  in  all  conditions,  may  be  pro- 
vided for.  And  thus  God  mouldeth  some  for  a  schoolmaster's 
life,  undertaking  it  with  desire  and  delight,  and  discharging  it 
with  dexterity  and  happy  success. 

He  studieth  his  scholars'  natures  as  carefully  as  the}^  their 
books;  and  ranks  their  dispositions  into  several  forms.  And 
though  it  may  seem  difficult  for  him  in  a  great  school  to 
descend  to  all  particulars,  yet  experienced  schoolmasters  may 
quickly  make  a  grammar  of  boys'  natures. 

He  is  able,  diligent,  and  methodical  in  his  teaching ;  not  lead- 
ing them  rather  in  a  circle  than  forwards.  He  minces  his  pre- 
cepts for  children  to  swallow,  hanging  clogs  on  the  nimbleness 
of  his  own  soul,  that  his  scholars  may  go  along  with  him. 

He  is  moderate  in  inflicting  deserved  correction.  Many  a 
schoolmaster  better  answereth  the  name  paidotribes '  than  paida- 
gogos*  rather  tearing  his  scholars'  flesh  with  whipping  than 
giving  them  good  education.  No  wonder  if  his  scholars  hate 
the  muses,  being  presented  unto  them  in  the  shapes  of  fiends 
and  furies. 

Such  an  Orbilius 3  mars  more  scholars  than  he  makes.    Their 

1  boy-beater 

*  He  means  "boy-teacher;  "  butthepaidagogos^azSa^ca^os),  "pedagogue," 
of  the  Greeks,  was  the  servant  who  conducted  the  children  from  their  homes  to 
the  schools,  and  not  the  instructor. 

3  a  reference  to  the  teacher  of  the  Latin  poet  Horace,  satirized  by  the  latter 
as  "  Orbilius  plagosus  " — "  Orbilius  of  the  birch." 


76  THOMAS  FULLER 

tyranny  hath  caused  many  tongues  to  stammer  which  spake 
plain  by  nature,  and  whose  stuttering  at  first  was  nothing  else 
but  fears  quavering  on  their  speech  at  their  master's  presence  ; 
and  whose  mauling  them  about  their  heads  hath  dulled  those 
who  in  quickness  exceeded  their  master. 

To  conclude,  let  this,  amongst  other  motives,  make  school- 
masters careful  in  their  place — that  the  eminences  of  their 
scholars  have  commended  the  memories  of  their  schoolmasters 
to  posterity. 

2.  OF  MEMORY 

It  is  the  treasure-house  of  the  mind,  wherein  the  monuments 
thereof  are  kept  and  preserved.  Plato  makes  it  the  mother  of 
the  muses.  Aristotle  sets  it  in  one  degree  further,  making  expe- 
rience the  mother  of  arts,  memory  the  parent  of  experience. 
Philosophers  place  it  in  the  rear  of  the  head ;  and  it  seems  the 
mine  of  memory  lies  there,  because  there  men  naturally  dig  for 
it,  scratching  it  when  they  are  at  a  loss.  This  again  is  two-fold : 
one,  the  simple  retention  of  things ;  the  other,  a  regaining  them 
when  forgotten. 

Artificial  memory  is  rather  a  trick  than  an  art,  and  more  for 
the  gain  of  the  teacher  than  profit  of  the  learners.  Like  the 
tossing  of  a  pike,  which  is  no  part  of  the  postures  and  motions 
thereof,  and  is  rather  for  ostentation  than  use,  to  show  the 
strength  and  nimbleness  of  the  arm,  and  is  often  used  by 
wandering  soldiers,  as  an  introduction  to  beg.  Understand  it 
of  the  artificial  rules  which  at  this  day  are  delivered  by  memory 
mountebanks ;  for  sure  an  art  thereof  may  be  made  (wherein 
as  yet  the  world  is  defective),  and  that  no  more  destructive  to 
natural  memory  than  spectacles  are  to  eyes,  which  girls  in  Hol- 
land wear  from  twelve  years  of  age.  But  till  this  be  found  out, 
let  us  observe  these  plain  rules. 

First,  soundly  infix  in  thy  mind  what  thou  desirest  to  remem- 
ber. What  wonder  is  it  if  agitation  of  business  jog  that  out  of 
thy  head  which  was  there  rather  tacked  than  fastened  ?  It  is 
best  knocking  in  the  nail  over  night,  and  clinching  it  the  next 
morning. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  FULLER  77 

Overburden  not  thy  memory  to  make  so  faithful  a  servant  a 
slave.  Remember,  Atlas  was  weary.  Have  as  much  reason  as 
a  camel,  to  rise  when  thou  hast  thy  full  load.  Memory,  like  a 
purse,  if  it  be  over  full  that  it  cannot  shut,  all  will  drop  out  of 
it ;  take  heed  of  a  gluttonous  curiosity  to  feed  on  many  things, 
lest  the  greediness  of  the  appetite  of  thy  memory  spoil  the 
digestion  thereof. 

Marshal  thy  notions  into  a  handsome  method.  One  will 
carry  twice  more  weight  trussed  and  packed  up  in  bundles,  than 
when  it  lies  untoward,  flapping  and  hanging  about  his  shoul- 
ders. Things  orderly  fardled  up  under  heads  are  most  portable. 

Adventure  not  all  thy  learning  in  one  bottom,  but  divide  it 
betwixt  thy  memory  and  thy  note-books.  He  that  with  Bias 
carries  all  his  learning  about  him  in  his  head,  will  utterly  be 
beggared  and  bankrupt,  if  a  violent  disease,  a  merciless  thief, 
should  rob  and  strip  him.  I  know  some  have  a  commonplace ' 
against  commonplace  books,2  and  yet  perchance  will  privately 
make  use  of  what  they  publicly  declaim  against.  A  common- 
place book  contains  many  notions  in  garrison,  whence  the 
owner  may  draw  out  an  army  into  the  field  on  competent 
warning. 

1  a  trite  or  customary  remark. 

2  It  is  an  excellent  plan  for  every  teacher  to  keep  a  commonplace  book  of  con- 
siderable size,  different  portions  of  it  being  set  apart  for  the  different  subjects 
upon  which  he  is  to  give  instruction.     On  the  first  twenty  pages  "  Geography" 
may  be  the  head;  the  next  twenty  pages  maybe  set  apart  for  "History;" 
twentymore  maybe  assigned  to  "  Reading,"  and  a  like  number  to  "  Arithmetic," 
"Grammar,"  "Spelling,"  "  Writing,"  etc.,  reserving  quite  a  space  for  "Mis- 
cellaneous Matter."    This  would  make  a  large  book  ;  but  when  it  is  remembered 
that  it  is  to  be  used  for  several  years,  it  is  well  to  have  it  large  enough  to  con- 
tain a  large  amount  of  matter.     Now,  whenever  a  teacher  hears  a  lecture  on  a 
peculiar  method  of  teaching  either  of  these  branches,  let  him  note  the  prominent 
parts  of  it  under  the  proper  head,  and  especially  the  illustrations.    When  he 
reads  or  hears  an  anecdote  illustrating  geography,  history,  or  grammar,  let  it  be 
copied  under  the  proper  head.     If  it  illustrates  geography,  let  the  name  of  the 
place  stand  at  its  head.     When  he  visits  a  school,  and  listens  to  a  new  explana- 
tion or  a  new  process,  let  him  note  it  under  its   head.     In  this  way  he  may  col- 
lect  a  thousand  valuable  things  to  be  used  with  judgment  in  his  school. — Page's 
"  Theory  and  Practice  of  Teaching." 


JOHANN    HEINRICH    PESTALOZZI 

174-6-182  7 

JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI,  the  greatest  of  modern  educational 
reformers,  was  born  at  Zurich,  in  German  Switzerland,  in  1746.  His 
family  was  of  Italian  origin  and  of  Protestant  faith.  He  established 
at  his  beautiful  villa  of  Neu  Hof,  in  the  canton  Aargau,  an  industrial 
school  for  the  poor — probably  the  first  of  its  kind.  It  was  a  failure. 
Following  the  military  events  in  the  canton  Unterwalden,  he  main- 
tained in  an  old  convent  at  Stanz  a  school  for  the  starving  and  home- 
less victims  of  war.  For  a  time  he  conducted  a  school  at  Burgdorf, 
and  afterward  he  established  a  famous  institute  of  learning  in  the  old 
castle  of  Yverdon,  in  the  canton  Vaud.  Besides  contributing  fre- 
quently to  the  periodical  literature  of  his  time,  Pestalozzi  wrote,  at 
intervals,  a  number  of  books,  the  chief  of  which  were  "  Figures  to 
my  Spelling  Book"  (a  collection  of  fables),  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude," 
"Christopher  and  Eliza,"  "How  Gertrude  Educated  her  Children," 
and  "Hours  of  a  Hermit."  He  died  in  1827.  The  following  estimate 
of  the  life  of  this  wonderful  man  is  from  the  pen  of  Professor  Joseph 
Payne,  of  the  College  of  Preceptors  in  London : 

"At  fifty-two  years  of  age,  we  find  Pestalozzi  utterly  unacquainted 
with  the  science  and  the  art  of  education,  and  very  scantily  furnished 
even  with  elementary  knowledge,  undertaking  at  Stanz,  in  the  canton 
Unterwalden,  the  charge  of  eighty  children,  whom  the  events  of  war 
have  rendered  homeless  and  destitute.  Here  he  was  at  last  in  the 
position  which,  during  years  of  sorrow  and  disappointment,  he  had 
eagerly  desired  to  fill.  He  was  now  brought  into  immediate  contact 
with  ignorance,  vice,  and  brutality,  and  had  the  opportunity  for 
testing  the  power  of  his  long-cherished  theories.  The  man  whose 
absorbing  idea  had  been  that  the  ennobling  of  the  people,  even  of  the 
lowest  class,  through  education,  was  no  mere  dream,  was  now,  in 
the  midst  of  extraordinary  difficulties,  to  struggle  with  the  solution  of 
the  problem.  And  surely  if  any  man,  consciously  possessing  strength 
to  fight,  and  only  desiring  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  his  adver- 
sary, ever  had  his  utmost  wishes  granted,  it  was  Pestalozzi  at  Stanz. 
Let  us  try  for  a  moment  to  realize  the  circumstances — the  forces  of  the 
78 


JOHA2W  HEINRIOH  PE8TALOZZI  79 

enemy  on  the  one  side,  the.  single  arm  on  the  other,  and  the  field  of 
the  combat.  The  house  in  which  the  eighty  children  were  assembled, 
to  be  boarded,  lodged,  and  taught,  was  an  old  tumble-down  Ursuline 
convent,  scarcely  habitable,  and  destitute  of  all  the  conveniences  of 
life.  The  only  apartment  suitable  for  a  schoolroom  was  about  twenty- 
four  feet  square,  furnished  with  a  few  desks  and  forms  ; l  and  into 
this  were  crowded  the  wretched  children,  noisy,  dirty,  diseased,  and 
ignorant,  and  with  the  manners  and  habits  of  barbarians.  Pestalozzi's 
only  helper  in  the  management  of  the  institution  was  an  old  woman, 
who  cooked  the  food  and  swept  the  rooms;  so  that  he  was,  as  he  tells 
us  himself,  not  only  the  teacher,  but  the  paymaster,  the  man-servant, 
and  almost  the  housemaid  of  the  children. 

"  'I  was  obliged,'  he  says,  'unceasingly  to  be  everything  to  my 
children.  I  was  alone  with  them  from  morning  till  night.  It  was 
from  my  hand  that  they  received  whatever  could  be  of  service  both  to 
their  bodies  and  minds.  All  succor,  all  consolation,  all  instruction  came 
to  them  immediately  from  myself.  Their  hands  were  in  my  hands; 
my  eyes  were  fixed  on  theirs,  my  tears  mingled  with  theirs,  my  smiles 
encountered  theirs,  my  soup  was  their  soup,  my  drink  was  their  drink. 
I  had  around  me  neither  family,  friends,  nor  servants ;  I  had  only  them. 
I  was  with  them  when  they  were  in  health,  by  their  side  when  they 
were  ill.  I  slept  in  their  midst.  I  was  the  last  to  go  to  bed,  the  first 
to  rise  in  the  morning.  When  we  were  in  bed,  I  used  to  pray  with 
them  and  talk  to  them  until  they  went  to  sleep.  They  wished  me  to 
do  so.' 

"This  active,  practical,  self-sacrificing  love,  beaming  on  the  frozen 
hearts  of  the  children,  by  degrees  melted  and  animated  them.  But  it 
was  only  by  degrees.  Pestalozzi  was  at  first  disappointed.  He  had 
expected  too  much,  and  had  formed  no  plan  of  action.  He  even 
prided  himself  upon  his  want  of  plan.  '  I  knew, '  he  says,  '  no  sys- 
tem, no  method,  no  art  but  that  which  rested  on  the  simple  conse- 
quences of  the  firm  belief  of  the  children  in  my  love  toward  them.  I 
wished  to  know  no  other.'  Before  long,  however,  he  began  to  see 
that  the  response  which  the  movement  of  his  heart  toward  theirs  called 
forth  was  rather  a  response  of  his  personal  efforts,  than  one  dictated 
by  their  own  will  and  conscience.  It  excited  action,  but  not  sponta- 
neous, independent  action.  This  did  not  satisfy  him.  He  wished  to 
make  them  act  from  strictly  moral  motives. 

"But  he  conceived — and  justly — that  their  intellectual  training  was 
to  be  looked  on  as  part  of  their  moral  training.  Whatever  increases 
our  knowledge  of  things  as  they  are,  leads  to  the  appreciation  of  the 

1  benches 


80  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

truth;  for  truth,  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term,  is  this  knowledge. 
But  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  as  requiring  mental  effort,  and  there- 
fore exercising  the  active  powers,  necessarily  increases  the  capacity  to 
form  judgments  on  moral  questions;  so  that,  in  proportion  as  you 
cultivate  the  intellect,  you  must  train  the  moral  powers  which  are  to 
carry  its  decisions  into  effect.  Mo4^1_a£d_jntejle^tual_education  must 
consequently,  in  the  formation  of  the  human  being,  proceed  together, 
the  one  stimulating  and  maintaining  the  action  of  the  other.  Pesta- 
lozzi,  therefore,  instructed  as  well  as  educated,  and  indeed  educated  by 
means  of  instruction.  In  carrying  out  this  object,  he  proceeded  from 
the  near,  the  practical,  the  actual,  to  the  remote,  the  abstract,  and 
the  ideal." 

"  One  of  the  aspects  in  which  he  has  been  brought  before  us — and  it 
deserves  every  consideration — is  that  of  an  earnest,  self-sacrificing, 
enthusiastic  philanthropist,  endowed  with  what  Richter  calls  'an 
almighty  love,'  of  which  the  first  and  last  thought  was,  how  he 
might  raise  the  debased  and  suffering  among  his  countrymen  to  a 
higher  level  of  happiness  and  knowledge,  by  bestowing  upon  them  the 
blessings  of  education.  It  is  right  that  he  should  be  thus  exhibited  to 
the  world;  for  never  did  any  man  better  deserve  to  be  enrolled  in  the 
noble  army  of  martyrs  who  have  died  that  others  might  live,  than 
Pestalozzi.  To  call  him  the  Howard  of  educational  philanthropists,  is 
only  doing  scant  justice  to  his  devoted  character,  and  underestimates 
rather  than  overestimates  the  man. 

"Another  aspect  in  which  Pestalozzi  is  sometimes  presented  to  us 
is  that  of  an  unhandy,  unpractical,  dreamy  theorist;  whose  views 
were  ever  extending  beyond  the  compass  of  his  control;  who,  like  the 
djinn  of  the  Eastern  story,  called  into  being  forces  which  mastered 
instead  of  obeying  him ;  whose  '  unrivaled  incapacity  for  governing ' 
(this  is  his  own  confession)  made  him  the  victim  of  circumstances; 
who  was  utterly  wanting  in  worldly  wisdom ;  who,  knowing  man,  did 
not  know  men;  and  who,  therefore,  is  to  be  set  down  as  one  who 
promised  much  more  than  he  performed.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
there  is  substantial  truth  in  such  a  representation ;  but  this  only  in- 
creases the  wonder  that,  in  spite  of  his  disqualifications,  he  accom- 
plished so  much.  It  is  still  true  that  his  awakening  voice,  calling  for 
reform  in  education,  was  responded  to  by  hundreds  of  earnest  intelli- 
gent men,  who  placed  themselves  under  his  banner,  and  were  proud  to 
follow  whither  the  Luther  of  educational  reform  wished  to  lead  them. 
A  third  view  of  Pestalozzi  presents  him  to  us  as  merely  interested  about 
elementary  education — and  this  appears  to  many  who  are  engaged  in 
teaching  what  are  called  higher  subjects  a  matter  in  which  they  have 


CHARACTERIZATION  81 

little  or  no  concern.  Those,  however,  who  thus  look  down  on  Pesta- 
lozzi's  work,  only  show,  by  their  indifference,  a  profound  want  both 
of  self-knowledge  and  of  a  knowledge  of  his  principles  and  his  pur- 
pose. Elementary  education,  in  the  sense  in  which  Pestalozzi  under- 
stands it,  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the  concern  of  every  teacher,  whatever 
his  especial  subject,  and  whatever  the  age  of  his  pupils;  and  when  he 
sees  that  elementary  education  is  only  another  expression  for  the  form- 
ing of  the  character  and  mind  of  the  child,  he  must  acknowledge  that 
this  object  comes  properly  within  the  sphere  of  his  labors,  and  deserves, 
on  every  ground,  his  thoughtful  attention. 

"In  spite,  then,  of  Pestalozzi's  patent  disqualifications  in  many 
respects  for  the  task  he  undertook;  in  spite  of  his  ignorance  of  even 
common  subjects  (for  he  spoke,  read,  wrote,  and  ciphered  badly,  and 
knew  next  to  nothing  of  classics  or  science) ;  in  spite  of  his  want  of 
worldly  wisdom,  of  any  comprehensive  and  exact  knowledge  of  men 
and  of  things;  in  spite  of  his  being  merely  an  elementary  teacher, 
— through  the  force  of  his  all-conquering  love,  the  nobility  of  his 
heart,  the  resistless  energy  of  his  enthusiasm,  his  firm  grasp  of  a  few 
first  principles,  his  eloquent  exposition  of  them  in  words,  his  resolute 
manifestation  of  them  in  deeds,  he  stands  forth  among  educational 
reformers  as  the  man  whose  influence  on  education  is  wider,  deeper, 
more  penetrating,  than  that  of  all  the  rest — the  prophet  and  the  sover- 
eign of  the  domain  in  which  he  lived  and  labored." 

Characterization 

The  materials  for  "Leonard  and  Gertrude "  were  gathered  during 
long  years  of  suffering  and  disappointment ;  and  the  work  itself  was 
the  result  of  an  intense  love,  which  made  the  cause  of  the  poor  and 
friendless  its  own.  He  had  already  failed  in  a  practical  attempt  to 
relieve  the  unfortunate,  but  he  had  obtained  a  deeper  insight  into  the 
causes  which  perpetuated  the  evils  of  society.  With  a  bleeding  heart, 
he  had  seen  that  poverty,  unless  counterbalanced  by  a  healthy  culture 
of  the  mind  and  soul,  was  generally  accompanied  by  moral  and  phys- 
ical wretchedness;  by  intemperance,  ignorance,  and  superstition.  He 
was  also  able  to  trace  part  of  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  to  the  selfish- 
ness and  hardness  of  the  rich,  many  of  whom  derived  a  shameful 
profit  from  the  improvidence  of  their  unfortunate  brethren.  He  had 
also,  occasionally,  seen  in  the  cottages  of  the  poor  cheerfulness, 
peace,  and  comfort;  and  this  spirit  he  had,  with  great  certainty,  always 
traced  to  the  influence  of  a  sound  home  education,  conducted  by  an 
intelligent  mother. 

The  characters  of  this  tale,  far  from  engaging  in  brilliant  or  dazzling 

S.M.— 6. 


82  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

actions,  are  great  in  their  very  simplicity  and  truth  to  nature.  The 
principal  ones  are :  Gertrude,  a  pattern  of  a  good  and  intelligent  wife 
and  mother — an  educator  who  tries  to  fulfill  the  duties  of  her  office  to 
their  fullest  extent,  without  troubling  her  head  with  plans  of  emanci- 
pation ;  Leonard,  her  husband,  who,  however,  plays  only  a  secondary 
part;  Arner,  the  lord  of  the  manor,  who  tries  to  effect  a  thorough 
reform  in  the  administration  of  the  parish  intrusted  to  his  care;  Ernst, 
a  worthy  clergyman,  who  assists  Arner,  and  works  on  the  hearts  and 
convictions,  and  not  on  the  fears  and  prejudices,  of  his  parishioners ; 
Gliilphy,  the  schoolmaster,  in  whose  teaching  and  discipline  Pestalozzi 
embodies  some  of  the  favorite  ideas  of  education  which  he  afterward 
matured;  Hummel,  the  bailiff,  chief  magistrate  and  judge  of  the  vil- 
lage— the  personification  of  wickedness,  avarice  and  pride — a  man  with 
a  heart  hardened  through  many  years  of  mismanagement  and  crime ; 
and  Rudi,  one  of  the  victims  of  the  bailiff,  whose  story  forms  some  of 
the  most  affecting  chapters  of  the  book. 

Domestic  education  and  social  reform  were  considered  so  important 
by  Pestalozzi,  that,  after  completing  "Leonard  and  Gertrude,"  he 
wrote  another  treatise  upon  these  subjects,  entitled  ' '  Christopher  and 
Eliza,"  which  was  published  in  1782.  In  the  preface  to  the  first  edition 
of  this  book,  Pestalozzi  remarks  that  it  was  written  principally  to 
supply  a  commentary  to  "Leonard  and  Gertrude,"  the  moral  lessons 
of  which  he  wished  to  impress  upon  the  convictions  of  the  people.  He 
concludes  by  saying :  "  I  know  it  will  appear  tedious  to  mere  novel 
readers,  but  I  desire  that  it  should  be  read  in  humble  cottages,  many 
of  the  inmates  of  which  will  find  in  it  sentiments  corresponding  to 
their  own  experiences." 

The  personages  who,  during  thirty  evenings,  are  supposed  to  read 
and  discuss  as  many  chapters  of  "Leonard  and  Gertrude,"  are:  Chris- 
topher, a  wealthy  and  intelligent  farmer;  Eliza,  his  wife;  Josiah, 
their  servant ;  and  Fritz,  their  son. 

By  a  strange  anomaly,  which  is  in  strong  contrast  with  the  usual 
order  of  things,  Josiah  is  the  principal  speaker,  and  the  one  who  deals 
most  in  abstruse  reflections.  Christopher  is  next  in  importance  ; 
while  Eliza  only  occasionally  makes  shrewd  and  sensible  remarks, 
mostly  upon  moral  and  educational  questions.  Fritz  ir  a  silent  list- 
ener, but,  at  the  end  of  each  conversation,  is  requested  to  sum  up  all 
the  maxims  which  he  has  gathered  from  the  story  of  the  discussion. 
The  little  prodigy  does  this  with  such  an  amount  of  wisdom,  original- 
ity, and  wit,  and  in  such  flowing  language,  that  one  is  astonished  at 
the  precocity  of  even  an  imaginary  child. 

HERMANN  KRUSL 


GERTRUDE  AT  HOME  83 

Gertrude  at  Home 

(From  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude  ") 

There  lived  in  Bonnal  a  mason.  He  was  called  Leonard,  and 
his  wife,  Gertrude.  He  had  seven  children,  and  some  property ; 
but  he  had  this  fault — that  he  often  let  himself  be  tempted  to 
the  tavern.  When  he  was  once  seated  there  he  behaved  like  a 
madman,  and  was  often  led  from  drinking  to  gaming,  and  thus 
deprived  of  the  produce  of  his  labor.  Whenever  this  had  hap- 
pened at  night  Leonard  repented  in  the  morning;  for,  when 
he  saw  his  wife  and  children  wanting  bread,  it  went  so  to  his 
heart  that  he  trembled  and  cast  down  his  eyes  to  conceal  his 
tears. 

Gertrude  was  the  best  wife  in  the  village ;  but  she  and  her 
blooming  children  were  in  danger  of  being  robbed  of  their 
father  and  driven  from  their  home,  and  of  sinking  into  the 
greatest  misery,  because  Leonard  would  not  let  wine  alone. 

Gertrude  saw  the  approaching  danger,  and  felt  it  most  keenly. 
When  she  fetched  grass  from  the  meadow,  when  she  took  hay 
from  the  loft,  when  she  set  away  the  milk  in  her  clean  pans, 
whatever  she  was  doing,  she  was  tormented  by  the  thought 
that  her  meadow,  her  haystack,  and  her  little  hut,  might  soon 
be  taken  away  from  her.  When  her  children  were  standing 
around  her,  or  sitting  in  her  lap,  her  anguish  was  still  greater, 
and  the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

Hitherto,  however,  she  had  been  able  to  conceal  this  silent 
weeping  from  her  children ;  but,  on  Wednesday  before  Easter, 
when  she  had  waited  long,  and  her  husband  did  not  come 
home,  her  grief  overcame  her,  and  the  children  saw  her  tears. 
"  0  mother !  "  exclaimed  they,  "  you  are  weeping,"  and  they 
pressed  closer  to  her.  Sorrow  and  anxiety  were  on  every 
countenance.  With  deep  sobs,  heavy  downcast  looks,  and  silent 
tears  the  children  surrounded  the  mother,  and  even  the  baby  in 
her  arms  betrayed  a  feeling  of  pain  hitherto  unknown.  All  this 
quite  broke  her  heart.  Her  anguish  burst  out  in  a  loud  cry, 


84  JOIIANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

and  all  the  children  wept  with  her,  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
lamentation  as  Leonard  opened  the  door. 

Gertrude,  who  lay  with  her  face  on  the  bed,  heard  not  the 
opening  of  the  door  nor  the  entrance  of  the  father ;  neither  did 
the  children  perceive  him,  for  they  saw  only  their  weeping 
mother.  Thus  did  Leonard  find  them. 

God  in  heaven  sees  the  tears  of  the  wretched,  and  puts  a 
limit  to  their  grief.  The  mercy  of  God  brought  Leonard  to  wit- 
ness this  scene,  which  pierced  his  soul.  The  paleness  of  death 
was  on  his  countenance,  and  he  could  scarcely  articulate,  "  Lord 
Jesus,  what  is  this ! "  Then  the  mother  saw  him  for  the  first 
time,  the  children  looked  up,  and  their  loud  expressions  of  grief 
were  hushed. 

"  Tell  me,  Gertrude,"  said  he,  "  what  is  this  dreadful  trouble 
in  which  I  find  thee  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  answered  she,  "  heavy  cares  press  upon  my 
heart,  and  when  thou  art  away,  sorrow  preys  more  keenly 
upon  me." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  Leonard, "  I  know  why  thou  weepest,  wretch 
that  I  am !  " 

Then  Gertrude  sent  away  the  children,  collected  all  her 
strength,  and  took  courage  to  urge  him  not  to  bring  any  further 
trouble  and  misery  upon  his  children.  She  was  pious,  and 
trusted  in  God ;  and  before  she  spoke,  she  prayed  silently  for 
her  husband  and  children ;  her  heart  was  comforted,  and  she 
said  :  "  Leonard,  trust  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  take  courage  to 
do  nothing  but  what  is  right." 

"  0  Gertrude,  Gertrude !  "  exclaimed  Leonard,  and  his  tears 
fell  in  torrents. 

"  Oh,  take  courage,  and  trust  in  thy  Father  in  heaven,  and 
all  will  be  better  with  thee.  It  goes  to  my  heart  to  make  thee 
weep.  I  would  gladly  keep  every  trouble  from  thee.  Thou 
knowest  that,  by  thy  side,  I  could  be  content  with  bread  and 
water,  and  the  still  midnight  is  often  to  me  an  hour  of  cheerful 
labor  for  thee  and  the  children.  But,  if  I  concealed  from  thee 
my  anxiety  lest  I  be  separated  from  thee  and  these  little  ones,  I 


GERTRUDE  AT  HOME  85 

should  be  no  mother  to  them,  nor  true  to  thee.  Our  children 
are  yet  full  of  gratitude  and  love  toward  us ;  but  if  we  do  not 
continue  to  act  as  parents,  their  love  and  tenderness  must  needs 
decrease ;  and  only  think  what  thou  wouldst  feel  if  Nicolas  had 
no  longer  a  home,  and  must  go  out  to  service ;  if  he  and  all 
these  dear  children  should  become  poor  through  our  fault — 
should  cease  to  thank  us,  and  begin  to  weep  for  us,  their  parents. 
Leonard,  couldst  thou  bear  to  see  thy  children  driven  out  of 
doors  to  seek  their  bread  at  another's  table?  Oh!  it  would 
kill  me."  So  spoke  Gertrude,  and  the  tears  fell  down  her 
cheeks. 

Leonard,  not  less  affected,  cried :  "  What  shall  I  do,  miserable 
creature  that  I  am  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  I  am  more  wretched 
than  thou  knowest.  O  Gertrude,  Gertrude ! "  He  was  again 
silent,  and  wrung  his  hands. 

"  O  my  dear  husband,  do  not  distrust  God's  mercy  !  What- 
ever it  be,  speak,  that  we  may  consult  together  and  comfort 
each  other." 

Gertrude  was  alone  with  her  children.  The  events  of  the 
week  and  thoughts  of  the  approaching  festival  filled  her  heart. 
In  thoughtful  silence  she  prepared  the  supper,  took  from  the 
closet  the  Sunday  clothes  for  the  family,  and  laid  them  out 
ready  for  the  morrow.  When  she  had  completed  her  work  she 
assembled  her  children  around  the  table  to  pray  with  them.  It 
was  her  custom  on  Saturdays,  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayer,  to 
remind  them  of  their  faults  and  of  such  occurrences  as  were 
peculiarly  calculated  to  interest  and  please  them.  This  day  she 
remembered,  especially,  the  loving  kindness  of  God  toward  her 
during  the  past  week ;  and  she  wished,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
impress  deeply  on  the  minds  of  the  children  the  tokens  which 
they  had  received  of  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  God. 

The  children  sat  round  her  in  silence,  with  their  little  hands 
folded  for  prayer,  and  the  mother  began  thus : 

"  Children,  I  have  good  news  to  tell  you.  Your  dear  father 
has  had  very  excellent  work  given  to  him  this  week,  by  which 


86  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

he  will  earn  much  more  than  he  could  before ;  and  we  may 
hope,  my  children,  to  eat  our  bread  with  less  care  and  sorrow 
in  future.  Give  thanks,  therefore,  unto  God,  our  loving  Father 
in  heaven,  for  his  goodness  toward  us.  Remember  often  the 
old  times  when  I  was  obliged,  with  care  and  anxiety,  to  portion 
out  to  you  every  mouthful  of  bread.  Oh,  it  grieved  my  heart 
that  many  a  time  I  could  not  give  you  enough.  But  our  heav- 
enly Father  knew  that  it  would  be  better  for  you,  my  dears,  to 
be  accustomed  to  poverty  and  patience,  and  learn  to  conquer 
your  own  desires,  than  to  live  in  plenty.  Oh,  my  children, 
remember,  as  long  as  you  live,  our  days  of  poverty  and  the 
distress  and  sorrow  we  have  endured,  and  if  our  condition  is 
improved,  henceforth  be  mindful  of  those  who  suffer  even  as 
you  have.  Will  you  do  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  mother,  we  will,"  replied  the  children. 

"  Well,  then,  Nicolas,  whom  dost  thou  know  that  is  suffering 
most  from  hunger  ?  " 

"  It  is  little  Rudi,"  said  Nicolas.  "  He  is  almost  starving. 
He  eats  grass  from  the  ground." 

"  Wouldst  thou  like  to  give  him  thy  supper  now  and  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mother.     May  I  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  thou  mayest,"  said  the  mother.  Then  turning  to 
Betti,  she  asked :  "  And  thou — to  whom  wouldst  thou  give  thy 
supper  ?  " 

Betti  named  some  poor  child,  and  so  did  the  other  children  as 
each  was  asked  in  turn,  all  being  delighted  in  anticipation  of 
the  pleasure  they  would  bestow.  After  some  moments  .the 
mother  remarked  :  "  That  is  enough,  my  children.  Now  see 
what  beautiful  presents  his  lordship  Arner  has  made  you." 

"  Oh !  the  bright  pennies !  Will  you  show  them  to  us  ?  "  cried 
the  children. 

"  Yes,  after  prayers,"  said  Gertrude  ;  and  the  children  shouted 
with  joy. 

"  You  are  noisy,  my  children,"  chided  the  mother.  "  If  some- 
thing good  comes  to  you,  always  think  of  God,  the  giver.  I 
rejoice  with  you ;  but,  when  people  are  loud  and  violent  in  their 


GERTRUDE  AT  HOME  87 

joy  or  sorrow,  peace  and  evenness  of  temper  are  lost.  You  see, 
children,  when  you  thank  your  father  for  something,  you  do 
not  make  much  noise;  you  fall  upon  his  neck  silently,  and 
when  you  really  feel  it  in  your  hearts,  the  tears  come  to  your 
eyes.  So  it  should  be  toward  God.  If  you  feel  very  much  joy 
on  account  of  the  good  he  does  you,  and  at  the  same  time  it 
touches  your  heart,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  say  many  words  or 
make  much  noise,  but  the  tears  will  come  to  your  eyes  in  think- 
ing how  good  your  heavenly  Father  is." 

Gertrude,  after  giving  more  advice  to  her  children,  changed 
the  subject  of  conversation  by  asking :  "  But,  my  dears,  how  has 
your  conduct  been  this  week  ?  "  The  children  looked  at  each 
other,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Anne,  hast  thou  been  a  good  girl  this  week  ?  "  asked  Ger- 
trude. 

"  No,  mother ;  thou  knowest  what  I  did  with  my  little 
brother,"  replied  Anne. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Anne.  The  poor  child  might  have  been  very  much 
injured.  Babes  left  in  that  way  have  sometimes  died.  Besides, 
only  think,  if  thou  wast  shut  up  by  thyself  in  a  room,  and  left 
to  cry  and  to  suffer  thirst  and  hunger.  Really,  Anne,  I  should 
not  be  able  to  leave  this  house  for  a  moment  if  I  were  not  so 
sure  that  thou  wouldst  take  care  of  the  baby." 

"  Trust  me,  dear  mother ;  I  will  not  leave  him  again  for  a 
single  moment,"  pleaded  Anne. 

"  Well,  I  hope  thou  wilt  not  give  me  another  such  fright. 
Nicolas,  how  has  it  been  with  thee  this  week  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  nothing  wiong,"  he  quickly  answered. 

"  Hast  thou  forgotten  that  thou  didst  throw  down  Kate  last 
Monday  ?  "  said  the  mother. 

"  I  did  not  do  it  on  purpose,  mother." 

"  To  be  sure  thou  didst  not.  To  do  such  a  thing  on  purpose 
would  be  wicked,  indeed.  Art  thou  not  ashamed  to  make  such 
an  excuse  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it.     I  will  be  more  careful,"  said  Nicolas. 

"  Be  sure  not  to  forget  it,  my  dear.    Believe  me,  thy  careless- 


JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

ness  will  certainly  make  thee  unhappy.  Well,  Betti,  how  hast 
thou  behaved  this  week  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  cannot  think  of  anything  wrong,  mother," 
replied  she. 

"  Art  thou  quite  sure,  Betti  ?  " 

"I  am,  indeed,  mother,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect.  I  should 
not  mind  telling  it  if  I  knew." 

"  It  is  very  odd  that  even  when  thou  hast  nothing  to  tell,  thou 
answerest  with  as  many  words  as  another  who  has  a  great  deal 
to  say." 

"  Well,  what  have  I  said  then  ?  "  asked  Betti. 

"  Thou  hast  said  nothing,  I  know,  but  thou  hast  given  a  long 
answer.  We  have  told  thee  a  thousand  times  that  thou  art  too 
forward.  Thou  never  thinkest  what  thou  shouldst  say,  and  yet 
thou  art  always  talking."  Gertrude  here  brought  to  Betti's 
recollection  a  piece  of  forwardness — giving  an  envious  neighbor 
some  information  which  brought  her  father  into  trouble. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,"  replied  Betti ;  "  but  neither  thou 
nor  father  had  said  a  word  about  not  wishing  me  to  tell 
of  it." 

"  Then  it  will  be  necessary  that  to  whatever  we  say  in  this 
room  we  must  always  add :  Now,  this  is  a  thing  which  Betti 
may  gossip  about  at  the  neighbors'  door,  and  at  the  fountain ; 
but  not  this,  and  this,"  replied  Gertrude. 

11 1  do  beg  thy  pardon,  mother ;  I  did  not  mean  it  so.". 

"  Thou  hast  been  told  once  for  all,  that  thou  art  not  to  talk  of 
anything  which  is  no  business  of  thine ;  but  it  is  all  in  vain. 
There  is  no  getting  thee  out  of  that  habit,  except  by  severe 
means ;  and  the  very  first  time  I  overtake  thee  in  idle  gossip,  I 
shall  make  use  of  the  rod." 

The  tears  burst  from  poor  Betti's  eyes  when  her  mother  men- 
tioned the  rod.  Gertrude  saw  it  and  said :  "  The  greatest 
mischief,  Betti,  often  arises  out  of  idle  gossip,  and  thou  must  be 
cured  of  that  fault." 

Thus  the  mother  discoursed  with  them  all.  Afterward, 
Nicolas  repeated  the  Saturday  evening  prayer  which  Gertrude 


GERTRUDE  AT  HOME  89 

had  taught  him :  "  Dear  Father  in  heaven,  thou  art  always 
kind  to  men  on  earth.  From  thee  all  things  come  that  our 
dear  father  and  mother  give  us.  ...  Dear  Father,  we  that 
are  sitting  here  and  praying  together,  are  brothers  and  sisters ; 
therefore,  we  will  be  kind  to  each  other,  and  do  to  each  other  no 
harm,  but  all  the  good  we  can.  We  elder  ones  will  take  care  of 
the  younger  ones  with  all  faithfulness  and  diligence,  that  our 
dear  father  and  mother  may  go  comfortably  about  their  work 
for  our  bread.  Alas !  this  is  all  we  can  do  for  them,  for  all  the 
trouble  and  expense  they  have  for  our  sakes.  Reward  them,  0 
Father  in  heaven,  for  all  they  do  for  us,  and  make  us  obedient 
unto  their  commands,  that  we  may  remain  dear  unto  them  to 
the  end  of  their  lives." 

Here  Nicolas  was  to  stop,  and  they  prayed  according  to  what 
had  happened  through  the  week,  as  follows :  "  We  thank  thee, 
O  heavenly  Father,  that  thou  hast  lightened  the  heavy  burden 
of  our  parents,  and  the  care  for  the  bread  for  themselves  and 
their  children,  and  hast  blessed  our  dear  father  with  good  and 
profitable  employment.  We  thank  thee  that  our  lord  Arner 
with  paternal  affection  protects,  comforts,  and  assists  us  in  all 
our  misery  and  distress.  We  thank  thee  for  all  the  blessings 
which  thou  hast  bestowed  on  us  through  him." 

Then  the  mother  taught  Betti  to  pray  in  this  manner :  "  For- 
give me,  0  my  God,  my  besetting  sin,  and  teach  me  to  bridle 
my  tongue ;  to  be  silent  when  I  ought  not  to  speak,  and  to 
answer  considerately  and  directly  when  I  am  asked." 

And  Nicolas  thus :  "  Preserve  me,  O  Father,  from  all  hasti- 
ness, and  teach  me  to  be  on  my  guard,  and  to  see  what  I  do,  and 
who  is  about  me." 

And  Anne :   "  I  am  sorry,  good    God,  for  leaving  my  dear . 
little  brother  so  thoughtlessly,  and  so  frightening  my  dear,  good 
mother.     I  will  not  do  it  again  in  all  my  life.     Forgive  me,  I 
pray  thee,  0  God." 

The  mother  then  said :  "  The  Lord  be  with  you ;  the  Lord 
bless  you ;  the  Lord  let  the  light  of  his  countenance  shine  upon 
you  and  be  merciful  unto  you." 


90  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

After  this,  mother  and  children  sat  yet  a  little  while  in  that 
solemn  silence  which  a  true  prayer  always  imposes. 

Betti  interrupted  this  silence :  "  Wilt  thou  show  us  the  new 
pennies  ?  "  said  she  to  her  mother. 

"  I  will,"  replied  the  mother  ;  "  but  thou  art  always  the  first  to 
speak,  Betti." 

Nicolas  now  jumped  from  his  seat,  and  pushed  forward  that 
he  might  be  nearer  the  candle  and  see  the  new  pennies  better, 
and  in  doing  so  hurt  the  baby,  so  that  he  began  to  cry. 

Then  said  the  mother :  "  Nicolas,  this  is  very  bad.  Thou 
didst  promise,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  that 
thou  wouldst  be  more  careful,  and  now  see  what  thou  hast 
done." 

"  O  mother,"  said  Nicolas,  "  I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  It  shall 
not  happen  any  more." 

"  That  is  what  thou  didst  just  now  promise  to  God  Almighty ; 
and  yet  thou  hast  been  careless  again,"  said  the  mother.  "  Thou 
shalt  go  to  bed  without  thy  supper." 

Thus  saying,  she  led  him  away  into  the  chamber.  His 
brothers  and  sisters  all  stood  about  grieved,  for  they  were  sorry 
that  poor  Nicolas  should  go  to  bed  without  his  supper.  "  What 
a  pity  it  is  that  you  will  not  be  governed  by  kindness,"  said  the 
mother,  when  she  came  back. 

"  Let  him  come  out  again  for  once,"  begged  the  children. 

"  No,  my  dears ;  he  must  be  cured  of  his  thoughtless  habits," 
was  the  mother's  reply. 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  not  see  the  pennies  till  to-morrow,  that 
he  may  see  them  with  us,"  said  Anrie. 

"  Well  spoken,  Anne,"  answered  the  mother ;  "  he  shall  see 
them  with  you." 

After  this  she  gave  the  children  their  supper,  and  then  led 
them  to  the  chamber  where  Nicolas  was  still  crying. 

"  Be  very  careful  another  time,  my  dear  Nicolas,"  said  the 
mother  to  him. 

Nicolas  answered :  "  Pray  forgive,  dear,  dear  mother !  do  for- 
give and  kiss  me !  " 


GERTRUDE  AT  HOME  91 

Gertrude  kissed  him,  and  a  burning  tear  flowed  down  her 
cheek,  when  she  said  to  him :  "  O  Nicolas,  try  to  become  more 
careful." 

Nicolas  threw  both  his  arms  round  her  neck,  and  said :  "0 
mother,  forgive  me." 

Gertrude  once  more  blessed  her  children,  and  then  returned 
to  her  room,  which  was  lighted  by  a  small  lamp. 

She  was  now  quite  alone,  and  her  heart  was  still  in  silent 
prayer,  which  inexpressibly  moved  her  soul.  The  feeling  of 
God's  goodness,  the  hope  of  life  everlasting,  the  sense  of  that 
internal  joy  and  peace  which  dwells  in  those  who  trust  in  their 
Heavenly  Father,  all  stirred  her  soul,  and  she  fell  on  her 
knees,  and  a  flood  of  tears  flowed  over  her  cheeks. 

[The  moral  to  be  drawn  from  this  lesson  is  contained  in  the 
following  directions  to  parents  in  regard  to  their  children : 

First. — Observe  the  nature  and  propensities  of  your  children, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  educate  them  according  to  their  indi- 
vidual wants  and  talents. 

Second. — Speak  to  them  in  a  simple,  intelligent  manner,  that 
your  words  and  sentiments  may  be  fully  understood.  A  prayer 
from  the  heart,  applied  to  circumstances,  is  better  than  a  formal 
one  mechanically  repeated. 

Third. — Do  not  content  yourselves  with  preaching  of  love  and 
charity;  but  try  to  make  the  children  loving  and  charitable. 
Lead  them  to  experience  the  pleasure  of  self-sacrifice,  that  they 
may  better  understand  this  crowning  excellence  of  the  human 
character. 

Fourth. — Act  as  the  mediator  between  your  children  and  God ; 
for  they  cannot  appreciate  his  goodness  and  greatness.  In 
order  to  be  able  to  do  this,  become  yourselves  examples  of  love, 
truthfulness,  and  justice. 

Fifth. — Be  firm,  and,  at  the  same  time,  kind.  Real  love  never 
overlooks  faults:  it  corrects  them.  The  ultimate  gratitude  of 
children  is  of  more  value  than  their  temporary  gratification.] 


92  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZ1 

The  School  in   Bonnal 

(From  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude") 
1.  A  GOOD  SCHOOL  is  FOUNDED 

Since  the  squire  had  returned  from  Cotton  Meyer's,  he  had 
spent  every  moment  he  could  spare  from  the  lieutenant  in  con- 
sultation with  him  on  the  organization  of  a  new  school.  They 
both  came  to  the  conclusion  that  a  child  is  always  well  edu- 
cated when  he  has  learned  to  practice  skillfully,  orderly,  and 
to  the  benefit  of  him  and  his,  what  is  to  be  his  future  occupa- 
tion. 

This  principal  object  of  all  education  seemed  to  them  at 
once  the  first  requisite  of  a  reasonable  school  for  human  beings. 
And  they  perceived  that  the  lieutenant,  and  any  person  pro- 
posing to  establish  a  good  school  for  farmers'  and  factory 
children,  must  either  himself  know  and  understand  what  such 
children  need  to  know  and  do  in  order  to  become  capable 
farmers  and  factory  workers ;  or,  if  he  himself  does  not  under- 
stand it,  that  he  must  inquire  and  learn  about  it,  and  have 
those  at  hand  who  do  know  and  can  show  him. 

They  naturally  thought  first  of  Cotton  Meyer  himself,  and 
immediately  after  this  conversation  and  their  meal  they  went  to 
him. 

"  This  is  the  man  of  whom  I  have  said  so  much  to  you,"  said 
the  squire  to  the  lieutenant ;  and  then,  to  Meyer,  "  and  this 
isthe  gentleman  who,  I  hope,  will  encourage  you  about  your 
school." 

Meyer  did  not  understand ;  but  the  squire  explained  to  him, 
saying  that  this  was  to  be  the  schoolmaster  of  the  village. 

Meyer  could  not  sufficiently  wonder  at  this,  and  after  a  time 
he  said,  "  If  the  gentleman  is  willing  to  take  so  much  pains,  we 
cannot  thank  him  enough ;  but  it  will  require  time  to  become 
well  acquainted  with  our  condition  and  ways  in  the  village." 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  93 

LIEUT.  "I  presume  so;  but  one  must  begin  some  time  or 
other ;  and  I  shall  not  regret  any  pains  I  take  to  examine,  as 
thoroughly  as  possible,  what  is  needed  and  what  your  children 
can  properly  learn,  in  order  to  be  well  fitted  for  their  farming 
and  manufacturing." 

MEYER.  "  That  will  be  an  excellent  beginning." 

LIEUT.  "  I  do  not  know  how  else  I  ought  to  begin ;  and  I 
shall  take  every  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  all 
manner  of  house  and  field  labor,  so  as  to  learn  correctly  what 
training  and  what  example  your  children  need,  in  order  to  the 
right  education  for  their  vocation  and  circumstances." 

Meyer's  Mareieli  was  quite  at  home  with  the  lieutenant.  She 
showed  him  all  about  the  house,  and  in  the  stables,  what  the 
children  must  do  to  learn  to  do  in  good  order  whatever  was 
necessary  for  themselves  and  their  parents ;  made  them  dig  in 
the  garden  and  throw  earth  hither  and  thither,  to  even  the 
ground  and  improve  its  appearance,  and  adjust  the  edges ;  and 
to  scatter  fodder  correctly.  The  more  he  saw,  the  more  ques- 
tions he  asked;  inquired  how  they  measured  hay,  reckoned 
tithes,  and  kept  account  of  the  cotton  manufacture;  what  was 
the  difference  in  wages  in  the  different  kinds  of  cotton,  and  a 
hundred  other  things.  These  they  explained  to  him  as  far  as 
they  could.  Then  they  proposed  to  teach  the  children  how  to 
spin.  But  Mareieli  said,  "  We  take  in  some  hundred  zentners  of 
yarn  in  a  year,  and  I  have  never  yet  brought  them  to  spin 
right  well.  And  I  cannot  complain  about  it,  either,  for  they 
have  to  do  a  good  deal  in  the  fields  and  about  the  cattle.  But 
if  you  desire  to  see  a  good  arrangement  for  the  matter  of  spin- 
ning, you  must  go  to  see  the  mason's  wife.  With  her  there  is 
something  to  be  seen  on  that  point ;  but  not  with  us." 

LIEUT.  "  Is  not  the  mason's  wife,  of  whom  you  speak,  named 
Gertrude  ?  " 

MAREIELI.  "  It  seems  that  you  know  her  already?  " 

LIEUT.  "  No;  but  the  squire  has  proposed  to  go  directly  from 
you  to  her." 

MAR.  "  Well ;  then  you  will  see  that  I  told  you  correctly." 


94  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 


2.  A  GOOD  SCHOOL  is  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  ALL  GOOD  FORTUNE 

Gertrude's  room  was  so  full,  when  they  entered,  that  they 
could  scarcely  pass  between  the  wheels.  Gertrude,  who  had 
not  expected  to  see  any  strangers,  told  the  children  as  the  door 
opened  to  get  up  and  make  room.  But  the  squire  would  not 
let  one  of  them  move,  but  gave  his  hand  first  to  the  pastor  and 
then  to  the  lieutenant,  to  lead  them  behind  the  children,  next 
to  the  wall,  to  Gertrude's  table. 

You  could  not  believe  how  much  the  scene  delighted  these 
gentlemen.  What  they  had  seen  with  Cotton  Meyer  seemed 
nothing,  in  comparison. 

And  very  naturally.  Order  and  comfort  about  a  rich  man 
do  not  surprise.  We  think  hundreds  of  others  do  not  do  so 
well  because  they  have  not  money.  But  the  happiness  and 
comfort  in  a  poor  hut,  showing  so  unanswerably  that  every- 
body in  the  world  could  be  comfortable  if  they  could  maintain 
good  order,  and  were  well  brought  up — this  astonishes  a  well- 
disposed  mind  almost  beyond  power  of  expression. 

But  the  gentlemen  had  a  whole  room  full  of  such  children, 
in  the  full  enjoyment  of  such  blessings,  before  their  eyes.  The 
squire  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  seeing  the  picture  of  the  first- 
born of  his  future  better-taught  people,  as  if  in  a  dream ;  and 
the  falcon  eyes  of  the  lieutenant  glanced  hither  and  thither 
like  lightning,  from  child  to  child,  from  hand  to  hand,  from 
work  to  work,  from  eye  to  eye.  The  more 'he  saw,  the  fuller 
did  his  heart  grow  with  the  thought,  "She  has  done,  and  com- 
pletely, what  we  seek ;  the  school  which  we  look  for  is  in  her 
room." 

The  room  was  for  a  time  as  still  as  death.  The  gentlemen 
could  do  nothing  but  gaze  and  gaze,  and  be  silent.  But  Ger- 
trude's heart  beat  at  the  stillness  and  at  the  marks  of  respect 
which  the  lieutenant  showed  to  her  during  it,  and  which  bor- 
dered on  reverence.  The  children,  however,  spun  away  briskly, 
and  laughed  out  of  their  eyes  to  each  other ;  for  they  perceived 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  95 

that  the  gentlemen  were  there  on  their  account,  and  to  see  their 
work. 

The  lieutenant's  first  words  to  Gertrude  were,  "  Do  these 
children  all  belong  to  you,  mistress  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gertrude,  "  they  are  not  all  mine ;  "  and  she  then 
pointed  out,  one  after  another,  which  were  hers  and  which  were 
Rudi's. 

"  Think  of  it,  lieutenant,"  said  the  pastor ;  "  these  children 
who  belong  to  Rudi  could  not  spin  one  thread  four  weeks 


The  lieutenant  looked  at  the  pastor  and  at  Gertrude  and 
answered,  "  Is  it  possible !  " 

GERTRUDE.  "  That  is  not  remarkable.  A  child  will  learn  to 
spin  right  well  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  I  have  known  children  to 
learn  in  two  days." 

SQUIRE.  "  It  is  not  that  which  I  am  wondering  at  in  this 
room,  but  quite  another  thing.  These  children  of  other  people, 
since  the  three  or  four  weeks  ago  when  Gertrude  received  them, 
have  come  to  look  so  differently,  that  in  truth  I  scarcely  knew 
one  of  them.  Living  death  and  the  extremest  misery  spoke 
from  their  faces ;  and  these  are  so  gone  that  no  trace  of  them 
is  left." 

The  lieutenant  replied  in  French,  "  But  what  does  she  do  to 
the  children,  then  ?  " 

SQUIRE.  "  God  knows !  " 

PASTOR.  "  If  you  stay  here  all  day,  you  hear  no  tone,  nor  see 
any  shadow  of  anything  particular.  It  seems  always,  and  in 
everything  she  does,  as  if  any  other  woman  could  do  it ;  and 
certainly  the  commonest  wife  would  never  imagine  that  Ger- 
trude was  doing,  or  could  do,  anything  she  herself  could  not." 

LIEUT.  "  You  could  not  say  more  to  raise  her  in  my  estima- 
tion. That  is  the  culmination  of  art,  where  men  think  there 
is  none  at  all.  The  loftiest  is  so  simple  that  children  and  boys 
think  they  could  do  much  more  than  that." 

As  the  gentlemen  conversed  in  French,  the  children  began 
to  look  at  each  other  and  laugh.  Heireli  and  the  child  who 


JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

sat  opposite  to  her  made  mouths  to  each  other,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Parlen,  parlen,  parlen." 

Gertrude  only  nodded,  and  all  was  still  in  a  moment.  And 
then  the  lieutenant,  seeing  a  book  lying  on  every  wheel,  asked 
Gertrude  what  they  were  doing  with  them. 

GER.  "  Oh,  they  learn  out  of  them." 

LIEUT.  "  But  not  while  they  are  spinning  ?  " 

GER.  "Certainly." 

LIEUT.  "  I  want  to  see  that." 

SQUIRE.  "  Yes ;  you  must  show  us  that,  Gertrude." 

GER.  "  Children,  take  up  your  books  and  learn." 

CHILDREN.  "  Loud,  as  we  did  before  ?  " 

GER.  "  Yes,  loud,  as  you  did  before ;  but  right." 

Then  the  children  opened  their  books,  and  each  laid  the 
appointed  page  before  him,  and  studied  the  lesson  which  had 
been  set.  But  the  wheels  turned  as  before,  although  the  chil- 
dren kept  their  eyes  wholly  on  the  books. 

The  lieutenant  could  not  be  satisfied  with  seeing,  and  desired 
her  to  show  him  everything  relating  to  her  management  of  the 
children,  and  what  she  taught  them. 

She  would  have  excused  herself,  and  said  that  it  was  nothing 
at  all  but  what  the  gentlemen  knew,  and  a  thousand  times  bet- 
ter than  she. 

But  the  squire  intimated  to  her  to  proceed.  Then  she  told 
the  children  to  close  their  books,  and  she  taught  them,  by  rote, 
a  stanza  from  the  song : 

"How  beautiful  the  sunbeams'  play, 
And  how  their  soft  and  brilliant  ray 
Delights  and  quickens  all  mankind — 
The  eye,  the  brain,  and  all  the  mind ! " 

The  third  stanza,  which  they  were  then  learning,  reads  tnus : 

"The  sun  is  set.     And  thus  goes  down, 
Before  the  Lord  of  heaven's  frown, 
The  loftiness  and  pride  of  men, 
And  all  is  dusk  and  night  again." 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  97 

She  repeated  one  line  at  a  time,  distinctly  and  slowly,  and 
the  children  said  it  after  her,  just  as  slowly,  and  very  distinctly, 
and  did  so  over  and  over,  until  one  said,  "I  know  it  now." 
Then  she  let  that  one  repeat  the  stanza  alone;  and  when  he 
knew  every  syllable,  she  permitted  him  to  repeat  it  to  the 
others,  and  them  to  repeat  after  him,  until  they  knew  it. 
Then  she  began  with  them  all  three  of  the  stanzas,  of  which 
they  had  already  learned  the  first  two.  And  then  she  showed 
the  gentlemen  how  she  taught  them  arithmetic,  and  her  mode 
was  the  simplest  and  most  practical  that  can  be  imagined. 

But  of  that  I  shall  speak  again  in  another  place. 

3.  RECRUITING  OFFICER'S  DOINGS 

The  lieutenant  was  every  moment  more  convinced  that  this 
was  the  right  instruction  for  his  school ;  but  he  was  also  con- 
vinced that  he  needed  a  woman  like  this,  if  the  giving  it  was  to 
be  not  merely  possible,  but  actual. 

A  Prussian  recruiting  officer  does  not  contrive  so  many 
means  of  getting  into  the  service  a  fellow  who  comes  up  to  the 
standard  as  the  lieutenant  contrived  to  decoy  into  his  trap  this 
woman,  who  came  up  to  his  standard  in  school  teaching. 

"  But,  mistress,"  he  began,  "  could  not  the  arrangements  in 
your  room  here  be  introduced  into  a  school  ?  " 

She  thought  a  moment,  and  replied,  "  I  don't  know.  But  it 
seems  as  if  what  is  possible  with  ten  children  is  possible  with 
forty.  But  it  would  require  much ;  and  I  do  not  believe  that 
it  would  be  easy  to  find  a  schoolmaster  who  would  permit 
such  an  arrangement  in  his  school." 

LIEUT.  "  But  if  you  knew  of  one  who  desired  to  introduce  it, 
would  you  help  him  ?  " 

GER.  (Laughing?)     "  Yes,  indeed ;  as  much  as  I  could." 

LIEUT.  "And  if  I  am  he?" 

GER.  "Are  what?" 

LIEUT.  "The  schoolmaster,  who  would  be  glad  to  organize 
such  a  school  as  you  have  in  your  room." 
&  M.  — ri 


98  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

GER.  "  You  are  no  schoolmaster." 

LIEUT.  "  Yes,  I  am.     Ask  the  gentlemen." 

GER.  "  Yes,  perhaps,  in  a  city,  and  in  something  of  which  we 
know  neither  gigs  nor  gags" 

LIEUT.  "  No ;  but,  honestly,  in  a  village." 

GER.  (Pointing  to  the  wheels?)     "  Of  such  children  ?  " 

LIEUT.  "  Yes,  of  such  children." 

GER.  "  It  is  a  long  way  from  me  to  the  place  where  school- 
masters for  such  children  look  like  you." 

LIEUT.  "  Not  so  far." 

GER.  "  I  think  it  is." 

LIEUT.  "  But  you  will  help  me,  if  I  undertake  to  organize  my 
school  in  that  way  ?  " 

GER.  "  If  it  is  far  away,  I  will  not  go  with  you." 

LIEUT.  "  I  shall  remain  here." 

GER.  "  And  keep  school  ?  " 

LIEUT.  "Yes." 

GER.  "  Here  in  the  room  ?  " 

LIEUT.  "  No ;  in  the  schoolroom." 

GER.  "  You  would  be  sorry  if  you  should  be  taken  at  your 
word." 

LIEUT.  "  But  you  still  more  if  you  should  have  to  help  me." 

GER.  "  I  will  help  you — and  I  say  so  three  times,  if  you  are 
our  schoolmaster." 

Here  he  and  the  other  gentlemen  began  to  laugh ;  and  the 
squire  said,  "Yes,  Gertrude;  he  is  certainly  your  schoolmaster." 

This  perplexed  her.  She  blushed  and  did  not  know  what  to 
say. 

LIEUT.  "What  makes  you  so  silent?" 

GER.  "  I  think  it  would  have  been  well  if  I  had  been  silent 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  back." 

LIEUT.     "Why?" 

GER.  "  How  can  I  help  you,  if  you  are  a  schoolmaster  ?  " 

LIEUT.  "  You  are  looking  for  excuses ;  but  I  shall  not  let  you 

go." 

GER.  "  I  beg  of  you." 


THE  SCHOOL   IN  BONNAL  99 

LIEUT.  "  It  will  be  of  no  use ;  if  you  had  promised  to  marry 
me,  you  must  abide  by  the  promise." 

GER.  "  No,  indeed !  " 

LIEUT.  "  Yes,  indeed ! " 

GER.  "  It  is  out  of  the  question." 

SQUIRE.  "  If  there  is  anything  which  you  know,  Gertrude, 
do  it  as  well  as  you  can ;  he  will  not  ask  anything  more ;  but, 
whatever  you  do  to  help  him,  you  will  do  to  help  me." 

GER.  "  I  will,  very  willingly ;  but  you  see  my  room  full  of 
children,  and  how  I  am  tied  down.  But  with  regard  to  advice 
and  help  in  matters  relating  to  work  which  a  gentleman  natu- 
rally cannot  understand,  I  know  a  woman  who  understands 
them  much  better  than  I ;  and  she  can  do  whatever  I  cannot." 

SQUIRE.  "  Arrange  it  as  you  can ;  but  give  him  your  hand 
on  the  bargain." 

4.  A  PROUD  SCHOOLMASTER 

The  new  condition  of  affairs  raised  the  courage  of  the  pastor, 
who  had  been  almost  in  the  state  of  a  slave  under  the  old  squire, 
and  his  acquaintance  with  the  son  contributed  much  toward 
accomplishing  his  ancient  plans.  On  the  next  Sunday  he  ex- 
plained to  the  people  some  chapters  of  the  Bible,  and,  at  the 
end  of  the  service,  called  for  whatever  else  was  to  be  done. 
Then  the  squire  took  the  lieutenant  by  the  hand,  and  told  him 
to  say  himself  to  the  congregation  what  he  desired  to  do  for 
their  children. 

The  lieutenant  arose,  bowed  to  the  squire,  the  pastor,  and  the 
congregation,  took  off  his  hat,  leaned  on  his  stick,  and  said :  "  I 
have  been  brought  up  with  a  nobleman,  and  am  myself  a  noble- 
man ;  but  I  am  not  for  that  reason  ashamed  to  serve  God  and 
my  fellow-men  in  the  situation  to  which  Providence  calls  me ; 
and  I  thank  my  dear  parents,  now  under  the  ground,  for  the 
good  education  they  gave  me,  and  which  enables  me  now  to 
put  your  school  on  such  a  footing  that,  if  God  will,  your  chil- 
dren shall  all  their  lives  be  respected  for  having  attended  it. 
But  it  is  not  my  business  to  make  long  speeches  and  sermons; 


100  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

but  if  it  please  God,  I  will  begin  my  school  instruction  to-mor- 
row, and  then  everything  will  be  made  plain.  Only,  I  should 
say  that  each  child  should  bring  his  work,  whether  sewing 
or  spinning  cotton,  or  whatever  it  be,  and  the  instruments  for 
the  same,  until  the  squire  shall  purchase  such  for  the  school." 

"  And  what  will  he  do  with  spinning-wheels  in  the  school  ?  " 
said  men  and  women  to  each  other  in  all  their  seats,  and  one, 
behind  him,  so  loud  that  he  heard  it. 

The  lieutenant  turned  around,  and  said  aloud,  "Nothing, 
except  to  make  the  children  learn  from  one  another  how  to 
read  and  cipher." 

This  the  farmers  could  not  get  into  their  heads,  how  the 
scholars  could  learn  from  one  another  how  to  read  and  cipher ; 
and  many  of  them  said,  at  the  church  door,  "  It  will  be  with  him 
as  it  was  with  the  madder  plants,  and  the  beautiful  sheep  that 
the  old  squire  had  brought  from  two  hundred  leagues  away,  and 
then  let  them  die  miserably  at  their  fodder."  But  some  older 
and  experienced  men  said,  "He  does  not  look  at  all  like  the 
madder  plants ;  and  has  not  the  appearance  of  a  man  that  talks 
carelessly." 

That  evening  the  schoolmaster  went  into  the  schoolroom  and 
nailed  up,  immediately  opposite  where  he  was  going  to  sit,  a 
beautiful  engraving.  This  represented  an  old  man,  with  a  long 
white  beard,  who,  with  wrinkled  brow  and  eyes  wide  open,  lifted 
up  his  finger. 

The  squire  and  the  pastor  said,  "  What  is  that  for  ?  " 

LIEUT.  "  He  is  to  say  to  me,  '  Gliilphi,  swear  not,  while  you 
sit  there  before  me.' " 

They  replied,  "  Then  we  will  not  pull  him  down ;  he  fills  too 
important  a  place." 

LIEUT.  "  I  have  been  considering  about  it." 

5.  SCHOOL  ORGANIZATION 

Next  morning  the  lieutenant  began  with  his  school.  But  I 
should  not  readily  recommend  any  other  schoolmaster  to  do 
what  he  did,  and,  after  such  a  Sunday's  proclamation,  which 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  101 

was  considered  proud  by  everybody,  to  cause  his  school  to 
be  put  in  order  by  a  farmer's  wife.  Still,  if  he  be  a  Gliilphi, 
he  may  do  it,  and  it  will  not  injure  him ;  but  I  mean  a  real 
Gliilphi,  not  a  pretended  one. 

He  let  Gertrude  put  the  children  in  order,  just  as  if  she  had 
them  at  home. 

She  divided  them  according  to  age  and  the  work  they  had, 
as  they  could  best  be  put  together,  and  placed  her  own  and 
Rudi's  children,  who  were  already  accustomed  to  her  manage- 
ment, between  others.  In  front,  next  to  the  table,  she  put  those 
who  did  not  know  their  A,  B,  C;  next  behind  them,  those 
who  were  to  spell,  then  those  who  could  read  a  little,  and 
last  those  who  could  read  fluently.  Then,  she  put  only  three 
letters  on  the  blackboard,  and  taught  them  to  the  first  row. 
Whoever  knew  them  best  was  to  name  them  aloud,  and  the 
others  were  to  repeat  them  after  him.  Then  she  changed  the 
order  of  the  letters,  wrote  them  larger  and  smaller,  and  so  left 
them  before  their  eyes,  all  the  morning.  In  like  manner  she 
wrote  several  letters  for  the  scholars  who  were  learning  to 
spell,  and  those  who  could  read  a  little  had  to  spell  with  these 
letters.  But  these,  as  well  as  those  who  could  read  fluently, 
were  to  have  their  books  always  open  by  their  spinning-wheels, 
and  to  repeat  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  after  one  who  read  aloud. 
And  every  moment  they  were  saying  to  that  one,  "  Go  on." 

For  the  work,  Gertrude  had  brought  a  woman  with  her 
named  Margaret,  who  was  to  come  to  the  school  every  day,  as 
Gertrude  had  no  time  for  that  purpose. 

This  Margaret  understood  her  business  so  well,  that  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  find  another  like  her.  As  soon  as  any  child's 
hand  or  wheel  was  still  she  stepped  up  to  him,  and  did  not 
leave  him  until  all  was  going  on  in  good  order  again. 

Most  of  the  children  carried  home  that  evening  so  much  work 
that  their  mothers  did  not  believe  they  had  done  it  alone.  But 
many  of  the  children  answered,  "  Yes ;  it  makes  a  difference 
whether  Margaret  shows  us  or  you."  And  in  like  manner  they 
praised  the  lieutenant,  their  schoolmaster. 


102  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

In  the  afternoon  he  conducted  the  school,  and  Gertrude 
watched  him,  as  he  had  her  in  the  morning ;  and  things  went 
on  so  well  that  she  said  to  him,  "  If  I  had  known  that  I  could 
finish  all  my  work  in  helping  you  organize  a  school  in  a  couple 
of  hours,  I  should  not  have  been  so  troubled  on  Thursday." 

And  he  was  himself  pleased  that  things  went  so  well. 

That  evening  he  gave  to  each  of  the  children  over  seven 
years  of  age  two  pieces  of  paper,  stitched  together,  and  a  couple 
of  pens;  and  each  child  found  his  name  written  on  the  paper 
as  beautifully  as  print.  They  could  not  look  at  it  enough ; 
and  one  after  another  asked  him  how  it  was  to  be  used.  He 
showed  them,  and  wrote  for  them,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
such  great  letters  that  they  looked  as  if  they  were  printed. 
They  would  have  watched  him  until  morning,  it  seemed  so 
beautiful  to  them,  and  they  kept  asking  him  if  they  were  to 
learn  to  do  the  same. 

He  answered,  "  The  better  you  learn  to  write  the  better  I  shall 
be  pleased." 

At  dismissal  he  told  them  to  take  care  of  their  paper,  and  to 
stick  the  points  of  their  pens  into  rotten  apples,  for  that  was 
the  very  best  way  to  keep  them. 

To  this  many  of  the  children  answered,  "  Yes,  that  would  be 
nice,  if  we  had  any  rotten  apples  ;  but  it  is  winter  now." 

At  this  he  laughed,  and  said,  "  If  you  have  none,  perhaps  I 
can  get  them  for  you.  The  pastor's  wife  has  certainly  more 
than  she  wants." 

But  other  children  said,  "  No,  no ;  we  will  get  some,  we  have 
some  yet." 

6.  SCHOOL  ORGANIZATION— (Continued) 

The  children  all  ran  home,  in  order  quickly  to  show  their 
beautiful  writing  to  their  parents ;  and  they  praised  the  school- 
master and  Margaret  as  much  as  they  could.  But  many  an- 
swered, "  Yes,  yes ;  new  brooms  sweep  clean ; "  or  some  such 
singular  expression,  so  that  the  children  did  not  understand 
what  they  meant.  This  troubled  the  children,  but  still  they 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  103 

did  not  cease  to  be  pleased ;  and  if  their  parents  took  no  pleas- 
ure in  their  beautiful  writing,  they  showed  it  to  whomever  they 
could,  to  their  little  brothers  in  the  cradle  and  to  the  cat  on 
the  table,  and  took  such  care  of  it  as  they  never  in  their  lives 
had  taken  of  anything  before.  And  if  the  little  brother  reached 
out  his  hand,  or  the  cat  its  paw,  after  it,  they  quickly  drew 
it  back,  and  said,  "  You  must  only  look  at  it  with  your 
eyes ;  not  touch  it."  Some  of  them  put  theirs  away  in  the 
Bible.  Others  said  they  could  not  open  such  a  big  book,  and 
put  it  in  a  chest  among  the  most  precious  things  they  had. 
Their  joy  at  going  to  school  again  was  so  great  that  the  next 
morning  many  of  them  got  up  almost  before  day,  and  called 
their  mothers  to  get  them  something  to  eat,  so  that  they  might 
get  to  school  in  good  season. 

On  Friday,  when  the  new  writing-benches,  which  the  squire 
had  had  made,  were  ready,  their  pleasure  was  very  great. 
During  the  first  lesson  they  would  all  sit  together;  but  the 
lieutenant  divided  them  into  four  classes,  in  order  that  there 
should  not  be  too  many  of  them,  and  that  none  should  escape 
him,  and  none  could  make  a  single  mark  that  he  did  not 
see. 

In  this  study,  also,  most  of  the  children  did  very  well.  Some 
learned  so  easily  that  it  seemed  to  come  to  them  by  itself ;  and 
others,  again,  did  well,  because  they  had  been  more  in  the  habit 
of  doing  things  that  required  attention.  Some,  however,  who 
had  never  had  very  much  in  their  hands  except  the  spoon  with 
which  they  ate,  found  great  difficulties.  Some  learned  arith- 
metic very  easily,  who  found  writing  very  hard,  and  who  held 
the  pen  as  if  their  hands  had  been  crippled.  And  there  were 
some  young  loafers  among  them,  who  had  all  their  lives 
scarcely  done  anything  except  run  around  the  streets  and 
fields,  and  who,  nevertheless,  learned  everything  far  quicker 
than  the  rest. 

So  it  is  in  the  world.  The  most  worthless  fellows  have  the 
best  natural  endowments,  and  usually  exceed  in  intelligence 
and  capacity  those  who  o  not  wander  about  so  much,  but  sit 


104  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

at  home  at  their  work.  And  the  arithmeticians  among  the 
farmers  are  usually  to  be  found  at  the  tavern. 

The  schoolmaster  found  these  poor  children  generally  much 
more  capable,  both  in  body  and  in  mind,  than  he  had  expected. 

For  this  there  is  also  a  good  reason.  Need  and  poverty  make 
man  more  reflective  and  shrewd  than  riches  and  superfluity, 
and  teach  him  to  make  the  best  use  of  everything  that  will 
bring  him  bread. 

Gliilphi  made  so  much  use  of  this  fact  that,  in  everything 
he  did,  and  in  almost  every  word  he  used  in  the  school,  he  had 
the  distinct  purpose  of  making  use  of  this  basis  laid  down  by 
Nature  herself  for  the  education  of  the  poor  and  the  country- 
men. He  was  so  strenuous  even  about  the  sweat  of  daily  labor, 
that  he  claimed  that  whatever  can  be  done  for  a  man  makes 
him  useful,  or  reliable  for  skill,  only  so  far  as  he  has  acquired 
his  knowledge  and  skill  in  the  sweat  of  his  years  of  study ;  and 
that,  where  this  is  wanting,  the  art  and  knowledge  of  a  man  is 
like  a  mass  of  foam  in  the  sea,  which  often  looks,  at  a  distance, 
like  a  rock  rising  out  of  the  abyss,  but  which  falls  as  soon  as 
wind  and  wave  attack  it.  Therefore,  he  said,  in  education, 
thorough  and  strict  training  to  the  vocation  must  necessarily 
precede  all  instruction  by  words. 

He  also  maintained  a  close  connection  between  this  training 
to  a  vocation  and  training  in  manners,  and  asserted  that  the 
manners  of  every  condition  and  trade,  and  even  of  the  place  or 
country  of  a  man's  abode,  are  so  important  to  him  that  the 
happiness  and  peace  of  all  his  life  depends  on  them.  Training 
to  good  manners  was  also  a  chief  object  of  his  school  organiza- 
tion. He  would  have  his  schoolroom  as  clean  as  a  church. 
He  would  not  even  let  a  pane  be  out  of  the  windows,  or  a  nail 
be  wrongly  driven  in  the  floor ;  and  still  less  would  he  permit 
the  children  to  throw  anything  on  the  floor,  eat  during  study, 
or  anything  else  of  the  kind.  He  preserved  strict  order,  even 
in  the  least  thing;  and  arranged  so  that,  even  in  sitting 
down  and  rising  up,  the  children  would  not  hit  against  one 
another. 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  105 

In  muddy  weather  they  were  made  to  leave  their  shoes  at  the 
door,  and  sit  in  their  stockings.  And  if  their  coats  were  muddy, 
they  had  to  dry  them  in  the  sun  or  at  the  stove,  as  the  case 
might  be,  and  clean  them.  He  himself  cut  their  nails  for  many 
of  them,  and  put  the  hair  of  most  all  the  boys  in  good  order ; 
and  whenever  any  one  went  from  writing  to  working,  he  was 
obliged  to  wash  his  hands.  They  had,  likewise,  to  rinse  out 
their  mouths  at  proper  times,  and  take  care  of  their  teeth,  and 
see  that  their  breath  was  not  foul.  All  these  were  things  they 
had  known  nothing  about. 

When  they  came  into  the  school  and  went  out,  they  stepped 
up  to  Gliilphi,  one  after  the  other,  and  said  to  him, "  God  be  with 
you."  Then  he  looked  at  them  from  head  to  foot,  and  looked 
at  them  so  that  they  knew  by  his  eye,  without  his  saying  a  word, 
if  there  was  anything  wrong  about  them.  But  if  this  look  did 
not  serve  to  set  things  right,  he  spoke  to  them.  When  he  saw 
that  the  parents  were  to  blame  for  anything,  he  sent  a  message 
to  them ;  and  not  uncommonly  a  child  came  home  to  its  mother 
with  the  message,  "  The  schoolmaster  sends  his  respects  to  you, 
and  asks  whether  you  have  no  needles,  or  no  thread ;  or  if  water 
is  expensive  with  you,"  and  the  like. 

Margaret  acted  as  though  she  had  been  made  on  purpose  to 
help  him  about  these  things.  If  a  child's  hair  was  not  in  good 
order,  she  placed  it  with  its  spinning  wheel  before  her  and  braided 
it  up  while  the  child  worked  and  studied.  Most  of  them  did  not 
know  how  to  fasten  their  shoes  and  stockings.  All  these  things 
she  showed  them  ;  adjusted  their  neckcloths  and  their  aprons, 
if  they  were  wrong,  and,  if  she  saw  a  hole  in  their  clothes,  took 
a  needle  and  thread  and  mended  it.  Just  before  the  close  of 
the  school,  she  went  through  the  room,  praising  or  blaming  the 
children,  as  they  had  worked  well,  half  well,  or  ill.  Those  who 
had  done  well  went  first  up  to  the  schoolmaster,  and  said  to  him, 
"  God  be  with  you,"  and  he  then  held  out  his  hand  to  them  and 
replied,  "  God  be  with  you,  my  dear  child  !  "  Those  who  had 
done  only  half  well  came  then  to  him,  and  to  them  he  said, 
"God  be  with  you,"  without  holding  out  his  hand  to  them. 


106  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

Lastly,  those  who  had  not  done  well  at  all  had  to  leave  the 
room  before  the  others,  without  daring  to  go  to  him  at  all. 

If  one  of  them  came  too  late,  he  found  the  door  shut  like  the 
gate  of  a  fortress  that  is  closed.  Whether  then  he  cried  or  not 
made  no  difference ;  the  master  said  to  him,  briefly,  "  Go  home 
again,  now ;  it  will  do  you  good  to  think  a  long  time  about  it. 
Everything  that  is  done  must  be  done  at  the  right  time,  or  else 
it  is  as  if  it  is  not  done  at  all." 

9.  HE  WHO  SEPARATES  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ARITHMETIC  AND  OF  SUS- 
CEPTIBILITY TO  TRUTH,  PUTS  ASUNDER  WHAT  GOD  HAS  JOINED 

But  how  much  soever  he  cared  for  the  hearts  of  his  children, 
he  took  as  much  care  of  their  heads;  and  required  that  what- 
ever went  into  them  should  be  as  clear  an.d  lucid  as  the  silent 
moon  in  the  heavens.  He  said,  "  Nothing  can  be  called  teach- 
ing which  does  not  proceed  on  that  principle ;  what  is  obscure, 
and  deceives,  and  makes  confused,  is  not  teaching,  but  pervert- 
ing the  mind." 

This  perversion  of  the  mind,  in  his  children,  he  guarded 
against  by  teaching  them,  above  all,  to  see  and  hear  closely,  and 
by  laboriously  and  industriously  teaching  them  habits  of  cool 
observation,  and  at  the  same  time  by  strengthening  in  them  the 
natural  capacity  which  every  man  possesses.  To  this  end  he 
gave  them  much  practice  in  arithmetic,  in  which  he  carried  them 
so  far,  within  a  year,  that  they  very  soon  yawned  if  any  one 
began  to  talk  to  them  about  the  wonderful  puzzles  with  which 
Hartknopfs  friends  so  easily  astonished  the  rest  of  the  people  of 
the  village. 

So  true  it  is  that  the  way  to  lead  men  away  from  error  is  not 
to  oppose  their  folly  with  words,  but  to  destroy  the  spirit  of  it 
within  them !  To  describe  the  night  and  the  dark  colors  of  its 
shadows  does  not  help  you  to  see;  it  is  only  by  lighting  a 
lamp  that  you  can  show  what  the  night  was;  it  is  only  by 
couching  a  cataract  that  you  can  show  what  the  blindness  has 
been.  Correct  seeing  and  correct  hearing  are  the  first  steps 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  107 

towards  living  wisely;  and  arithmetic  is  the  means  by  which 
nature  guards  us  from  error  in  our  searches  after  truth — the 
basis  of  peace  and  prosperity,  which  children  can  secure  for  their 
manhood  only  by  thoughtful  and  careful  pursuit  of  their  em- 
ployments. 

For  such  reasons,  the  lieutenant  thought  nothing  so  impor- 
tant as  a  right  training  of  his  children  in  arithmetic ;  and  he 
said,  "  A  man's  mind  will  not  proceed  well  unless  it  gains  the 
habitude  of  apprehending  and  adhering  to  the  truth,  either  by 
means  of  much  experience  or  of  arithmetical  practice,  which 
will  in  great  part  supply  the  place  of  that  habitude." 

But  his  methods  of  teaching  them  arithmetic  are  too  extended 
to  be  given  here. 

10.  A  SURE  MEANS  AGAINST  MEAN  AND  LYING  SLANDERS 

In  this  matter  also  he  succeeded  with  the  children  as  he  de- 
sired ;  and  it  could  not  but  happen  that  one  who  accomplished 
so  much  for  them  should  become  dear  to  many  people.  But  it 
was  far  from  being  the  case  that  all  were  satisfied  with  him. 
The  chief  charge  against  him  was,  that  he  was  too  proud  for  a 
schoolmaster,  and  would  not  talk  with  the  people  at  all.  He 
said  one  thing  and  another  to  defend  himself,  and  tried  to  make 
them  understand  that  he  was  using  his  time  and  his  lungs  for 
the  children ;  but  the  farmers  said  that,  notwithstanding  all  that, 
he  might  stop  a  moment  or  two  when  any  one  wanted  to  say 
something  to  him,  and,  if  pride  did  not  prevent  him,  he  would. 

All  the  children,  to  be  sure,  contradicted  their  parents  in  this, 
and  said  that  he  certainly  was  not  proud;  but  they  replied, 
"  He  may  be  good  to  you,  and  may  be  proud,  nevertheless." 

But  the  rainy  weather,  in  the  third  week  of  his  school-keep- 
ing, accomplished  for  him  what  the  good  children  could  not  do, 
with  all  their  talking. 

It  was  an  established  principle  in  Bonnal,  that  an  old  bridge 
in  front  of  the  schoolhouse,  which  had  been  in  a  bad  condition 
for  twenty  years,  should  not  be  rebuilt;  and  so,  whenever  it 
rained  for  two  days  together,  the  children  had  to  get  wetted 


108  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

almost  to  their  knees  to  get  to  the  school.  But  the  first  time 
that  Glulphi  found  the  street  so  deep  in  water  he  stood  out  in 
the  street,  in  the  rain,  as  soon  as  the  children  came,  and  lifted 
them,  one  after  another,  over  the  stream. 

This  looked  very  funny  to  a  couple  of  men  and  their  wives 
who  lived  just  opposite  the  schoolhouse,  and  who  were  the  very 
ones  who  had  complained  most  that  the  schoolmaster's  pride 
would  scarcely  let  him  say  good-day  or  good-night  to  people. 
They  found  great  pleasure  in  seeing  him  get  wet  through  and 
through,  in  his  red  coat,  and  thought  he  would  never  keep  at  it 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  expected  every  moment  that  he  would 
call  out  to  them  to  know  whether  nobody  was  coming  to  help 
him.  But  when  he  kept  right  on  with  his  work,  just  as  though 
not  even  a  cat  lived  anywhere  near  him,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
man,  and  was  dripping  wet,  clothes  and  hair,  and  all  over,  and 
still  showed  no  shadow  of  impatience,  but  kept  carrying  over 
one  child  after  another,  they  began  to  say,  behind  their  win- 
dows, "  He  must  be  a  good-natured  fool,  after  all,  to  keep  it  up 
so  long,  and  we  seem  to  have  been  mistaken  about  him.  If  he 
had  been  proud,  he  would  certainly  have  stopped  long  ago." 

At  last  they  crept  out  of  their  holes  and  went  out  to  him,  and 
said :  "  We  did  not  see,  before,  that  you  were  taking  so  much 
trouble,  or  we  would  have  come  out  to  you  sooner.  Go  home 
and  dry  yourself;  we  will  carry  the  children  over.  We  can 
bear  the  rain  better  than  you.  And,  before  school  is  out,  we 
will  bring  a  couple  of  planks,  too,  so  that  there  shall  be  a  bridge 
here,  as  there  used  to  be." 

This  they  did  not  say  merely,  but  did  it.  Before  eleven 
o'clock  there  was  actually  a  bridge  erected,  so  that  after  school 
the  scholars  could  go  dry-shod  over  the  brook.  And  also  the 
complaints  about  his  pride  ceased ;  for  the  two  neighbors' 
wives,  who  had  been  the  loudest  in  making  them,  now  sang 
quite  another  song. 

If  this  seems  incredible  to  you,  reader,  make  an  experiment 
yourself,  and  stand  out  in  the  rain  until  you  are  dripping  wet 
for  the  sake  of  other  people's  children,  without  being  called  on 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  BONNAL  109 

to  do  so,  or  receiving  anything  for  it;  and  see  if  those  people 
do  not  then  willingly  speak  good  of  you,  except  in  regard  to 
something  very  evil,  or  something  which  they  cannot  see  and 
understand  to  be  otherwise  than  bad. 

11.  FOOLISH  WORDS,  AND  SCHOOL  PUNISHMENTS 

But  it  was  not  long  before  the  people  had  something  else  to 
complain  about,  and,  indeed,  something  worse  than  before.  The 
Hartknopf  party  in  the  village,  that  is,  discovered  that  the  lieu- 
tenant was  not  a  Christian,  and  began  quietly  to  make  good 
and  simple  people  in  the  village  believe  it.  One  of  the  first  to 
find  comfort  in  this  story,  and  to  endeavor  to  propagate  it,  was 
the  old  schoolmaster.  He  could  not  endure  the  thought  that 
all  the  children  should  so  praise  and  love  the  new  school- 
master. As  long  as  he  had  been  schoolmaster  they  had  hated 
him ;  and  he  had  become  so  used  to  this,  in  thirty  years,  that 
he  believed  it  must  be  so ;  and  asserted  that  the  children,  not 
being  able  to  understand  what  is  good  for  them,  naturally  hate 
all  discipline,  and  consequently  all  schoolmasters.  But  he  did 
not  make  much  progress  with  this  theory;  and  he  fancied 
people  were  going  to  tell  him  that  the  children  loved  their 
present  schoolmaster  because  he  was  good  to  them. 

This  vexed  him,  for  he  could  not  endure  all  his  life  to  have 
it  flung  at  him  that  his  own  foolishness  was  the  reason  that  the 
children  did  not  love  him,  although  it  was  the  honest  truth.  If 
he  observed  the  least  thing  which  he  disapproved,  the  first  word 
was,  "  You  are  killing  me,  body  and  soul ;  you  will  bring  me 
into  my  grave.  If  you  did  not  deserve  hell  for  any  other 
reason,  you  deserve  it  on  account  of  me ;  "  and  the  like. 

Such  language,  especially  to  children,  does  not  cause  good 
feeling ;  and  they  must  have  been  much  more  than  children  to 
love  a  fool  who  spoke  to  them  in  that  way  at  every  moment. 
They  knew  whom  they  were  dealing  with,  and  when  he  was 
most  enraged,  they  would  say  to  each  other,  "  When  we  kill 
again,  and  bring  him  some  sausages  and  meat,  we  shall  not  go  to 
hell  any  more,  at  least  so  long  as  he  has  any  of  them  left  to  eat." 


110  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

With  the  new  schoolmaster  the  case  was  quite  otherwise. 
His  harshest  reproofs  to  the  children  when  they  did  wrong 
were,  "  That  is  not  right,"  or  "  You  are  injuring  yourself,"  or 
"  In  that  way  you  will  never  arrive  at  any  good,"  etc.  Little  as 
this  was,  it  was  effectual,  because  it  was  the  truth. 

Glulphi's  punishments  consisted  mostly  in  exercises  intended 
to  help  the  faults  which  they  were  to  punish.  For  instance,  if 
a  child  was  idle,  he  was  made  to  carry  stone  for  the  guard-fence 
which  the  teacher  was  making  some  of  the  older  boys  con- 
struct, at  the  sand-meadow,  or  to  cut  firewood,  etc.  A  for- 
getful one  was  made  school-messenger,  and  for  four  or  five 
days  had  to  transact  whatever  business  the  teacher  had  in  the 
village. 

Even  during  his  punishments  he  was  kind  to  the  children, 
and  scarcely  ever  talked  more  with  them  than  while  punishing 
them.  "  Is  it  not  better  for  you,"  he  would  often  say  to  a  care- 
less one,  "  to  learn  to  keep  yourself  attentive  to  what  you  do, 
than  every  moment  to  be  forgetting  something,  and  then  to  have 
to  do  everything  over  again?"  Then  the  child  would  often 
throw  himself  upon  him  with  tears,  and,  with  his  trembling 
hand  in  his,  would  reply,  "  Yes,  dear  schoolmaster."  And  he 
would  then  answer,  "  Good  child.  Don't  cry,  but  learn  better ; 
and  tell  your  father  and  mother  to  help  you  to  overcome  your 
carelessness,  or  your  idleness." 

Disobedience  which  was  not  carelessness  he  punished  by  not 
speaking  publicly  to  such  a  child  for  three  or  four  or  five  days, 
but  only  alone  with  him,  intimating  to  him  at  the  close  of 
school  to  remain.  Impertinence  and  impropriety  he  punished 
in  the  same  way.  Wickedness,  however,  and  lying,  he  pun- 
ished with  the  rod ;  and  any  child  punished  with  the  rod  was 
not  permitted  during  a  whole  week  to  join  in  the  children's 
plays ;  and  his  name  and  his  fault  stood  entered  in  the  Register 
of  Offences  until  he  gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  improve- 
ment, when  they  were  stricken  out  again. 

So  great  was  the  difference  between  the  old  and  the  new 
organization  of  the  school. 


A    CHAPTER  FROM  "  CHRISTOPHER  AND  ELIZA"        111 

A  Chapter  from  "  Christopher  and  Eliza" 

"  That  is  my  chapter,  father,"  said  Eliza,  when  Christopher 
had  read  the  twelfth  chapter  of  the  book.  "  A  pious  mother, 
who  herself  teaches  her  children,  seems  to  me  to  be  the  finest 
sight  on  earth." 

"  It  is  very  different  from  any  that  we  see  in  the  school-room," 
said  Josiah. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that  schools  are  not  good,"  interposed 
Eliza. 

"  Nor  would  I  allow  myself  to  think  so,"  added  Christopher. 

"  The  schoolmaster's  instruction  will  never  reach  children's 
hearts  in  the  same  way  as  the  lessons  their  parents  teach  them," 
said  Josiah ;  "  and  I  am  sure  that  in  going  to  school  there  is  not 
all  the  good  that  people  fancy  there  is." 

"  I  fear,  Josiah,"  said  Christopher,  "  that  you  are  out  of  your 
sphere.  We  ought  to  thank  God  for  all  the  good  there  is  in  the 
world,  and  as  for  our  schools,  we  cannot  be  sufficiently  thankful 
for  them." 

"  Well  spoken,  master,"  answered  Josiah.  "  It  is  well  that 
there  are  schools ;  and  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  ungrateful 
for  any  good  that  is  done  to  us.  Yet,  I  think  he  must  be  a  fool 
who,  having  plenty  at  home,  runs  about  begging ;  and  that  is 
the  very  thing  which  our  villagers  do,  when  they  forget  all  the 
good  lessons  which  they  might  teach  their  children  at  home, 
and  send  them  every  day  to  gather  up  the  dry  crumbs  which 
are  to  be  found  in  our  miserable  schools.  I  am  sure  that  is  not 
quite  as  it  ought  to  be." 

"  Nor  is  it  quite  as  you  have  put  it,"  said  Christopher. 

"  Nay,  master,"  continued  Josiah ;  "  only  look  it  in  the  face, 
and  you  will  see  it  the  same  as  I  do.  What  parents  can  teach 
their  children  is  always  what  they  most  need  in  life ;  and  it  is  a 
pity  that  parents  should  neglect  this,  by  trusting  in  the  words 
which  the  schoolmaster  makes  them  learn  by  heart.  It  is  very 
true  they  may  be  good  and  wise  words,  and  have  an  excellent 
meaning  to  them  ;  but,  after  all,  they  are  only  words,  and, 


112  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PE8TALOZZI 

coming  from  the  mouth  of  a  stranger,  they  do  not  come  half  so 
near  home  as  a  father's  or  a  mother's  words." 

"  I  cannot  see  what  you  aim  at,  Josiah,"  said  Christopher. 

"  Look,  master.  The  great  point  in  bringing  up  a  child  is 
that  he  should  be  well  trained  for  his  own  home.  He  must 
learn  to  know  and  use  those  things  on  which  his  bread  and 
happiness  will  depend  through  life ;  and  it  seems  to  me  very  plain 
that  fathers  and  mothers  can  teach  that  much  better  at  home 
than  any  schoolmaster  can  in  his  school.  No  doubt  the  school- 
master tells  the  children  a  great  many  things  that  are  right  and 
good ;  but  they  are  never  worth  as  much  from  his  mouth  as 
from  that  of  an  upright  father  or  a  pious  mother. 

"  The  schoolmaster,  for  instance,  will  tell  the  child  to  fear 
God,  and  honor  his  father  and  mother,  for  such  is  the  word  of 
God ;  but  the  child  understands  little  of  what  he  says,  and  gen- 
erally forgets  it  before  he  comes  home.  But,  if  at  home  his 
father  gives  him  milk  and  bread,  and  his  mother  denies  herself 
a  morsel,  that  she  may  give  it  to  him,  the  child  feels  and  under- 
stands that  he  ought  to  honor  his  father  and  mother,  who  are  so 
kind  to  him;  and  he  will  not  forget  his  father's  words,  when  he 
tells  him  that  such  is  the  word  of  God.  In  the  same  way,  if  the 
child  is  told  at  school  to  be  merciful,  and  to  love  his  neighbor  as 
himself,  he  learns  the  text  by  heart,  and,  perhaps,  thinks  of  it 
for  a  few  days,  till  the  nice  words  slip  from  his  memory. 

"  At  home,  he  sees  a  poor  neighbor's  wife,  calling  upon  his 
mother,  lamenting  over  her  misery,  her  hunger,  and  nakedness ; 
he  sees  her  pale  countenance,  her  emaciated  and  trembling  figure 
— the  very  image  of  wretchedness ;  his  heart  throbs,  his  tears  flow ; 
he  lifts  up  his  eyes  full  of  grief  and  anxiety  to  his  mother,  as  if 
he  were  himself  starving ;  he  sees  his  mother  bring  refreshments 
for  the  poor  sufferer,  in  whose  looks  the  child  now  reads  comfort 
and  reviving  hope  ;  his  anguish  ceases ;  his  tears  flow  no  longer ; 
he  approaches  her  with  a  smiling  face;  the  mother's  gift  is 
received  with  sobs  of  gratitude,  which  again  draw  tears  to  the 
child's  eye.  Here  he  learns  what  it  is  to  be  merciful,  and  to 
love  one's  neighbor.  He  learns  it  without  the  aid  of  words,  by 


A    CHAPTER  FROM  "CHRISTOPHER  AND  ELIZA"        113 

the  real  fact ;  he  sees  mercy  instead  of  learning  words  about 
mercy." 

To  this  Christopher  replied :  "  I  must  own  I  begin  to  think 
that  too  much  value  is  put  upon  the  schoolmaster's  teaching." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Josiah, "  if  you  send  your  sheep  up  into  the 
mountains,  you  rely  upon  their  being  well  cared  for  by  the  shep- 
herd, who  is  paid  for  doing  it,  and  you  do  not  think  of  running 
after  them.  It  is  just  the  same  thing  with  the  school,  with  this 
difference :  it  is  easy  to  get  in  pastures  better  food  than  can  be 
found  in  stables,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  find  a  school  in  which  the 
children  are  better  taught  than  they  might  be  at  home.  The 
parents'  teaching  is  the  kernel  of  wisdom,  and  the  schoolmas- 
ter's business  is  only  to  make  a  husk  over  it,  and  even  then  it  is 
a  chance  if  it  turn  out  well." 

"  Why,  you  make  one's  brain  whirl,"  said  Eliza.  "  I  think 
I  see  now  what  you  are  after.  I  fancy  many  a  poor  ignorant 
mother,  who  now  sends  her  children  to  school  without  thinking 
anything  about  it,  merely  because  it  is  the  custom  to  do  so, 
would  be  very  glad  to  be  taught  better." 

"  There  is  yet  another  part  to  the  story,"  said  Josiah.  "  If  the 
children  must  be  sent  to  school,  the  schoolmaster  should  be  an 
open-hearted,  affectionate,  and  kind  man,  who  would  be  like  a 
father  to  the  children;  a  man  made  to  open  children's  hearts 
and  mouths,  and  draw  forth  their  ideas.  In  most  schools,  how- 
ever, it  is  just  the  contrary.  The  master  seems  to  shut  their 
hearts  and  mouths,  and  bury  their  common  sense.  This  is  the 
reason  why  healthy  and  cheerful  children,  whose  hearts  are  full 
of  joy  and  gladness,  hardly  ever  like  the  school ;  while  stupid 
dunces,  who  have  no  pleasure  with  other  children,  are  the 
bright  ornaments  there.  If  there  is  a  boy  among  them  who 
has  too  much  good  sense  to  keep  his  eyes  for  hours  fixed  on  a 
dozen  letters  which  he  hates ;  or  a  merry  girl,  who,  while  the 
schoolmaster  discourses  on  spiritual  life,  plays  with  her  little 
hands  all  sorts  of  temporal  fun  under  the  desk,  the  master,  in 
his  wisdom,  declares  these  the  goats  who  care  not  for  their  ever- 
lasting salvation." 
s  M. — 8 


114  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

Thus  spoke  the  good  Josiah  in  the  overflowing  of  his  zeal 
against  the  nonsense  of  the  village  schools,  and  his  master  and 
mistress  gave  more  and  more  attention  to  what  he  said. 

After  discussing  the  subject  more  fully,  the  father  turned  to 
Fritz  and  said,  "  Well,  Fritz,  what  have  you  gathered  from  this 
evening's  conversation  ?  " 

"  That  men  are  foolish  to  ask  alms  outside  the  house,  when 
there  is  abundance  within,"  answered  Fritz. 

"What  else?" 

"That  the  country  children  ought  to  be  educated  for  the 
field,  the  barn,  the  house,  and  not  merely  for  talk." 

"  What  more  ?  "  asked  Christopher. 

"  That  school  knowledge  is  to  many  a  child  like  unaccustomed 
food  upon  which  he  will  not  thrive." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  his  father. 

"  That  a  father's  instruction  is  like  the  kernel,  and  the  school- 
master's, at  most,  like  a  shell  protecting  it,  and  that  the  common 
people  need  common  sense  most." 

"  Anything  more  ?  " 

"  That  the  school  ought  to  be  an  auxiliary  to  the  nursery, 
where  father  and  mother  plant  the  germs  of  all  virtue  and  all 
knowledge." 

"  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  that  cunning  is  not  true  wis- 
dom, for  only  honest  men  can  possess  that,"  said  Christopher. 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Josiah.  "  True  wisdom  proceeds  from  love, 
and  brings  blessing  and  peace  to  its  owner  and  to  all  those  who 
depend  on  him.  Cunning  proceeds  from  selfishness  and  want 
of  love,  and  brings  trouble  and  suffering  upon  a  man  who  acts 
under  its  influence,  and  to  those  whom  he  rules  or  serves.  If 
you  are  anxious  to  observe  the  effects  of  such  cunning  in  a 
man,  go  to  the  poor  whom  he  uses  as  his  tools,  and  they  will 
tell  you  how  small  is  his  wisdom.  One  will  tell  you  that  he 
has  to  praise  his  lean  ox  as  a  fat  one,  in  order  to  induce  some 
greenhorn  to  buy ;  another  has  to  lure  a  stranger  into  his  net. 
They  will  also  tell  you  that  they  have  to  speak  highly  of  his 


A    CHAPTER   FROM  "  CHRISTOPHER  AND   ELIZA  "         115 

honor  and  virtue,  even  when  their  hearts  bleed  from  his  injus- 
tice. They  must  cover  his  sins  and  deny  his  cruelty,  at  least 
within  his  hearing  and  knowledge. 

"  But  he  who  indulges  in  such  tricks,  or  incites  others  to 
them,  feels  flattered  if  people  talk  of  his  keen  understanding, 
merely  because  he  practices  his  wit  day  and  night  in  matters 
with  which  honest  people  will  have  nothing  to  do.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  shows  himself  often  quite  foolish  and  inex- 
perienced in  important  matters  with  which  honest  men  are 
thoroughly  familiar.  No  scoundrel  has  ever  been  able  to  keep 
that  admixture  of  folly  and  madness  which  characterizes  vice 
always  under  his  control,  so  that  it  will  not  ooze  out  when  he 
least  expects  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  reason  that  men  live  so  unwisely 
till  their  last  hour  comes  ?  "  asked  Eliza. 

"The  neglect  of  home,  without  doubt,"  answered  Josiah. 
"  Man  must  have  for  his  heart  a  hearth,  where  the  fire  never 
goes  out ;  there  he  must  get  strength,  rest,  and  refreshment. 
After  leaving  his  home,  he  goes  to  his  work  with  new  courage. 
Love  of  mankind  is  not  nurtured  in  the  barren  regions  of  a 
vagabond  life ;  it  requires  fostering  care  in  the  sanctuary  of 
home,  as  the  noblest  and  tenderest  plants  require  the  greatest 
care  at  the  hand  of  the  gardener.  But  when  the  tender  plant 
of  home-grown  virtue  has  taken  root,  let  it  be  transferred  to 
any  soil,  and  it  will  thrive.  If  one  behaves  well  as  father, 
mother,  son,  you  may  trust  him  anywhere,  although  he  may 
change  his  relations ;  since  the  propelling  motive  of  his  actions 
will  always  be  the  same,  whether  you  call  it  duty,  obedience,  or 
tender  affection." 

"  Heed  my  words,  Fritz,"  said  Eliza,  "  and  do  not  scoff  at  any- 
thing which  is  sacred  to  thy  fellow-men,  and  necessary  to  their 
peace  and  welfare ;  which  protects  good  order  in  society,  and 
renders  the  last  hours  of  man  serene." 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  added  Christopher,  "  you  must  fear  God,  love 


116  JOHANN  HEINRICH  PESTALOZZI 

your  parents,  and  honor  your  superiors,  if  you  would  wish  to 
fare  well  on  earth." 

"  Do  so,  my  dear  boy,  with  an  innocent  and  simple  heart," 
said  Josiah.  "  Yet  never  be  afraid  to  search  after  truth  and  to 
stand  by  it;  to  oppose  him  who  uses  arbitrary  power,  and 
wishes  to  circumvent  you  with  lies  in  order  to  effect  wrong. 
Least  of  all.  do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  blinded  by  priests,  when, 
under  the  name  of  religion,  you  see  them  only  intent  on  fur- 
thering their  own  interests.  When  they  teach  you  immortality, 
then  listen  to  them  in  faith  and  gratitude,  for  it  is  God's  word. 
If  you  hope  to  be  pious,  abhor  the  man  who  weakens  the  simple 
faith  of  the  people  in  immortality,  and  ridicules  the  word  of 
God  in  his  intercourse  with  the  poor  and  helpless,  who  are  most 
in  want  of  it.  Such  a  man  is  like  him  who  despises  bread  and 
feeds  on  husks.  Oh,  flee  from  the  insane  one,  who  scoffs  at  that 
which  refreshes  and  comforts  so  many  thousands  of  thy  breth- 
ren. The  hope  of  immortality  lies  deep  in  the  inmost  soul,  and 
he  who  teaches  it  teaches  the  word  of  God." 

"  The  greatest  thing  that  religion  can  give  us  is  strength  for 
all  that  is  good  and  useful,"  said  Christopher.  "  Religion  ought 
to  give  me  the  conviction  that  on  leaving  earth  I  leave  nothing, 
that  my  soul  absorbs  its  cares,  and  that  my  hopes  reach  beyond 
this  temporal  abode;  but  for  this  very  reason  it  must  enable 
me  to  use  my  strength  for  the  benefit  of  my  family  and  my  race. 

"  Religion  does  not  call  men  away  from  the  duties  of  this 
earth,  but  it  gives  them  strength  to  the  last  moment  to  take 
care  of  what  has  been  intrusted  to  them.  Did  not  Christ,  when 
on  the  cross,  show  his  care  for  his  earthly  mother  by  recom- 
mending her  to  the  care  of  his  favorite  disciple?  I  may  be 
misunderstood,  and  perhaps  do  not  express  accurately  my  idea, 
when  I  say  that  man  is  not  made  for  religion,  but  religion  for 
man.  Religion  is  an  essence  which  takes  possession  of  a  man's 
soul,  and  leads  him  away  from  his  own  carnal  tendencies ;  it 
consists  rather  in  powers  than  in  words ;  it  is  a  storehouse  full 
of  good  instruments,  rather  than  a  saloon  filled  with  charming 
and  fascinating  images.  That  which  presents  itself  to  men 


A    CHAPTER  FROM  "  CHRISTOPHER  AND  ELIZA  "        117 

as  an   idol   with   which   to   make   a   constant  display,  is  not 
religion. 

"  The  way  to  heaven  is  by  fulfilling  all  our  duties  on  earth ; 
and  the  neglect  of  these  can  only  be  retrieved  to  some  extent 
while  man  is  well  and  active,  but  never  on  a  sick-bed  at  the 
approach  of  death.  Our  forefathers  were  wiser  in  this  respect 
than  we.  One  proof  of  this  is  that  they  generally  disposed  of 
their  property  while  still  in  health.  Not  only  were  wife  and 
children  remembered,  but  also  servants,  institutions,  the  poor, 
and  everything  which  the  dictates  of  humanity  as  well  as  re- 
ligion had  inspired  in  their  hearts.  In  our  days  it  is  not  so. 
Death  is  allowed  to  surprise  many,  and  they  are  unable  to  do 
what  they  intended  for  their  family  and  fellow-men.  We  often 
hear  people  say,  '  If  father  or  mother  had  disposed  of  this  or  the 
other  matter,  we  should  have  been  spared  much  care  and  vex- 
ation.' It  is  but  a  shallow  excuse  that  the  departed  ones  were 
so  occupied  with  spiritual  things  that  worldly  ones  were  for- 
gotten." 

"  I  have  known  people,"  said  Christopher,  "  who,  unsolicited, 
have  promised  to  take  charge  of  children  soon  to  become 
orphans.  I  have  also  seen  this  sacred  duty  neglected.  To  un- 
derstand these  seeming  contradictions,  we  must  assume  that  all 
men  have  moments  in  which  they  make  good  resolutions ;  but, 
unless  a  man  is  thoroughly  firm  and  honest,  these  good  resolu- 
tions are  transitory  as  the  light  of  the  sun  when  it  rises  in  the 
splendor  of  the  morning,  while  the  sky,  with  the  exception  of  a 
narrow  strip  along  the  horizon,  is  covered  with  rain  clouds. 
These  clouds  approach  from  all  sides ;  the  sunlight  is  extin- 
guished ;  the  whole  heavens  become  gray,  and  the  finer  the 
illumination,  the  more  will  the  rain  fall." 


WILLIAM    COWPER 

1731-18OO 

WILLIAM  COWPER,  "  the  most  popular  poet  of  his  generation  and  the 
best  of  English  letter  writers,"  was  born  in  1731,  at  Berkhampstead,  in 
Bedfordshire,  England.  His  father  was  rector  of  the  parish  church  in 
the  village.  His  mother,  who  was  descended  from  the  throne,  was  a 
lady  of  rare  worth  and  beauty.  She  died  when  her  son  was  six  years 
of  age.  Cowper's  grief  at  this  bereavement  is  touchingly  described  in 
his  "  Lines  on  Receipt  of  his  Mother's  Picture."  At  the  age  of  ten  he 
was  sent  to  Westminster  School,  where  he  remained  for  eight  years, 
diligently  storing  his  mind  with  the  treasures  of  learning.  For  the 
associations  of  such  a  school  he  was  by  nature  wholly  unfitted.  Always 
morbidly  sensitive,  he  was  often  upon  the  border  of  insanity,  and  more 
than  once  in  his  life  he  seemed  hopelessly  deranged.  The  system  of 
"  fagging"  at  the  schools,  now  generally  abolished  (though  it  still  has 
in  England  many  defenders,  who  regard  it  as  a  valuable  means  of  dis- 
cipline), was  in  Cowper's  day  at  its  height.  He  never  recalled  his 
school-days  without  disgust,  and  even  horror.  He  became  a  vehement 
opponent  and  critic  of  the  schools,  and  counseled  parents  to  educate 
their  sons  at  home. 

In  his  "  Tirocinium,"  which  is  a  terrific  onslaught  upon  the  then  pre- 
vailing system  of  education,  he  draws  a  picture  of  the  school  as  it 
appeared  to  a  nervous,  timid,  shrinking  youth,  who  was  wholly  unable 
to  comprehend  the  strong,  lusty  life  and  spirits  of  other  boys.  Cowper 
is  preeminently  the  home  poet  of  England;  yet,  strange  to  say,  he 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  ever  possessed  a  home.  In  1765,  after 
various  failures  and  discouragements,  and  when  half  mad  with  melan- 
choly, he  went  to  reside  with  a  clergyman,  Mr.  Unwin,  at  Hunt- 
ingdon, where  he  found  congenial  friends  and  surroundings.  He 
remained  permanently  with  the  Unwin  household.  Mr.  Unwin  died  in 
1767,  and  his  family  removed  to  the  village  of  Olney,  in  Buckingham- 
shire, where  most  of  Cowper's  voluminous  literary  work  was  per- 
formed. Mrs.  Unwin  watched  over  him  as  a  mother  might  care  for  an 
afflicted  child  ;  and  Lady  Austen,  a  most  valued  friend,  cheered  him 
with  her  light-heartedness  and  encouraged  him  to  continued  literary 
effort.  At  Lady  Austen's  solicitation  he  composed  his  greatest  poem, 
"  The  Task."  It  was  she  who  related  to  him  the  story  of  John  Gilpin, 
which,  in  a  moment  of  merriment,  he  retold  in  rhyme.  Cowper 
118 


CHARA  CTERIZA  TION  119 

translated  the  Iliad,  with  a  high  degree  of  success.  He  wrote  a  number 
of  hymns,  that  are  highly  prized  as  aids  to  Christian  worship.  He  died 
in  1800,  having  survived  by  two  years  his  faithful  friend  and  guardian, 
Mary  Unwin. 

Characterization 

The  nature  of  Cowper's  works  makes  us  peculiarly  identify  the  poet 
and  the  man  in  perusing  them.  As  an  individual,  he  was  retired  and 
weaned  from  the  vanities  of  the  world  ;  and  as  an  original  writer,  he 
left  the  ambitious  and  luxuriant  subjects  of  fiction  and  passion  for 
those  of  real  life  and  simple  nature,  and  for  the  development  of  his 
own  earnest  feelings  in  behalf  of  moral  and  religious  truth. 

His  language  has  such  a  masculine,  idiomatic  strength,  and  his 
manner,  whether  he  rises  into  grace  or  falls  into  negligence,  has  so 
much  plain  and  familiar  freedom,  that  we  read  no  poetry  with  a  deeper 
conviction  of  its  sentiments  having  come  from  the  author's  heart ;  and 
of  the  enthusiasm,  in  whatever  he  describes,  having  been  unfeigned 
and  unexaggerated.  He  impresses  us  with  the  idea  of  a  being  whose 
fine  spirit  had  been  long  enough  in  the  mixed  society  of  the  world  to  be 
polished  by  its  intercourse,  and  yet  withdrawn  so  soon  as  to  retain  an 
unworldly  degree  of  purity  and  simplicity.  THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

Tirocinium,  a  Latin  word,  signifies  the  first  military  service,  or  the 
first  campaign,  of  a  young  soldier.  Cowper's  "  Tirocinium  "  is  perhaps 
the  most  powerful  arraignment  of  schools  that  has  ever  been  made  in 
any  nation  or  age.  Cowper's  preface  to  a  book  of  his  poems  refers  to 
the  ' '  Tirocinium  "  in  the  following  words  :  "In  the  poem  on  the  sub- 
ject of  education,  he  [the  author]  would  be  very  sorry  to  stand  suspected 
of  having  aimed  his  censure  at  any  particular  school.  His  objections 
are  such  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to  schools  in  general.  If  there 
were  not,  as  for  the  most  part  there  is,  willful  neglect  in  those  who  man- 
age them,  and  an  omission  even  of  such  discipline  as  they  are  suscep- 
tible of,  the  objects  are  yet  too  numerous  for  minute  attention  ;  and  the 
aching  hearts  of  ten  thousand  parents,  mourning  under  the  bitterest  of 
disappointments,  attest  the  truth  of  the  allegation.  His  quarrel,  there- 
fore, is  with  the  mischief  at  large,  and  not  with  any  particular  instance 
of  it."  Though  written  by  the  greatest  English  poet  of  his  time,  and 
by  one  of  the  most  truthful  of  men,  the  descriptions  are  probably 
exaggerated  as  applied  even  to  the  schools  of  Cowper's  time.  More- 
over, the  remedy  he  proposes — the  general  substitution  of  private 
instruction  for  that  of  schools — is  fallacious,  and  contrary  to  our  ideas 
of  public  policy.  The  poem  serves  a  valuable  purpose,  however,  as  a 
warning  to  all  who  have  in  charge  the  training  of  youth. 


120  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Tirocinium;  or,  a  Review  of  Schools 

1  78  5 

To  the  Rev.  William  Cawthorne  Unwin,  rector  of  Stock  in  Essex, 
the  tutor  of  his  two  sons,  the  following  poem  recommending  private 
tuition  in  preference  to  an  education  at  school,  is  inscribed  by  his 
affectionate  friend.  WILLIAM  COWPER. 

OLNET,  November  6th,  1784. 

IT  is  not  from  his  form,  in  which  we  trace 
Strength  join'd  with  beauty,  dignity  with  grace, 
That  man,  the  master  of  this  globe,  derives 
His  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 
That  form,  indeed,  the  associate  of  a  mind 
Vast  in  its  powers,  ethereal  in  its  kind, 
That  form,  the  labor  of  Almighty  skill, 
Framed  for  the  service  of  a  freeborn  will, 
Asserts  precedence,  and  bespeaks  control, 
But  borrows  all  its  grandeur  from  the  soul. 
Hers  is  the  state,  the  splendor  and  the  throne, 
An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  her  own. 
For  her,  the  memory  fills  her  ample  page 
With  truths  pour'd  down  from  every  distant  age, 
For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store, 
The  wisdom  of  great  nations  now  no  more, 
Though  laden,  not  encumber'd  with  her  spoil, 
Laborious,  yet  unconscious  of  her  toil, 
When  copiously  supplied  then  most  enlarged, 
Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  surcharged. 
For  her,  the  fancy,  roving  unconfined, 
The  present  Muse  of  every  pensive  mind, 
Works  magic  wonders,  adds  a  brighter  hue 
To  nature's  scenes  than  nature  ever  knew  ; 
At  her  command  winds  rise  and  waters  roar; 
Again  she  lays  them  slumbering  on  the  shore ; 
With  flower  and  fruit  the  wilderness  supplies, 
Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  arise. 


TIROCINIUM;   OR,   A   REVIEW   OF  SCHOOLS  121 

For  her,  the  judgment,  umpire  in  the  strife 
That  grace  and  nature  have  to  wage  through  life, 
Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill, 
Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  will, 
Condemns,  approves,  and,  with  a  faithful  voice, 
Guides  the  decision  of  a  doubtful  choice. 


Why  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth 
To  yon  fair  Sun  and  his  attendant  Earth  ? 
And  when,  descending,  he  resigns  the  skies, 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise, 
Whom  Ocean  feels,  through  all  his  countless  waves, 
And  owns  her  power  on  every  shore  he  laves? 
Why  do  the  seasons  still  enrich  the  year, 
Fruitful  and  young  as  in  their  first  career  ? 
Spring  hangs  her  infant  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  western  breeze ; 
Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  charge  receives, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves, 
Till  Autumn's  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dews 
Dye  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues. — 
'Twere  wild  profusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 
Power  misemployed,  munificence  misplaced, 
Had  not  its  Author  dignified  the  plan, 
And  crowned  it  with  the  majesty  of  man. 
Thus  formed,  thus  placed,  intelligent  and  taught, 
Look  where  he  will,  the  wonders  God  has  wrought, 
The  wildest  scorner  of  his  Maker's  laws 
Finds  in  a  sober  moment  time  to  pause, 
To  press  the  important  question  on  his  heart, 
"Why  form'd  at  all,  and  wherefore  as  thou  art?" 


If  man  be  what  he  seems,  this  hour  a  slave, 
The  next,  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave ; 


122  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Endued  with  reason  only  to  descry 
His  crimes  and  follies  with  an  aching  eye ; 
With  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain, 
The  force  he  spends  against  their  fury  vain ; 
And  if,  soon  after  having  burned,  by  turns, 
With  every  lust  with  which  frail  Nature  burns, 
His  being  end  where  death  dissolves  the  bond, 
The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond ; 
Then  he,  of  all  that  Nature  has  brought  forth, 
Stands  self-impeached  the  creature  of  least  worth, 
And  useless  while  he  lives,  and  when  he  dies, 
Brings  into  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  skies. 


Truths  that  the  learned  pursue  with  eager  thought 
Are  not  important  always  as  dear-bought, 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompous  strains, 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophic  pains ; 
But  truths  on  which  depend  our  main  concern, 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  misery  not  to  learn, 
Shine  by  the  side  of  every  path  we  tread 
With  such  a  lustre,  he  that  runs  may  read. 
'Tis  true,  that  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day, 
Then  perish  on  futurity's  wide  shore 
Like  fleeting  exhalations,  found  no  more, 
Were  all  that  Heaven  required  of  human  kind, 
And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  designed, 
What  none  could  reverence  all  might  justly  blame, 
And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 
But  reason  heard,  and  nature  well  perused, 
At  once  the  dreaming  mind  is  disabused. 
If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air, 
Reflect  his  attributes  who  placed  them  there, 
Fulfil  the  purpose,  and  appear  design'd 
Proofs  of  the  wisdom  of  the  all-seeing  Mind, 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,    A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  123 

Tis  plain,  the  creature  whom  he  chose  to  invest 
With  kingship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest, 
Received  his  nobler  nature,  and  was  made 
Fit  for  the  power  in  which  he  stands  array'd, 
That,  first  or  last,  hereafter,  if  not  here, 
He  too  might  make  his  Author's  wisdom  clear, 
Praise  him  on  earth  or,  obstinately  dumb, 
Suffer  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 
This  once  believed,  'twere  logic  misapplied 
To  prove  a  consequence  by  none  denied, 
That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youth 
Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heavenly  trutli, 
That  taught  of  God  they  may  indeed  be  wise, 
Nor,  ignorantly  wandering,  miss  the  skies. 


In  early  days  the  conscience  has,  in  most, 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  life  is  lost. 
Preserved  from  guilt  by  salutary  fears, 
Or,  guilty,  soon  relenting  into  tears. 
Too  careless,  often,  as  our  years  proceed, 
What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read, 
Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care 
To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare, 
And  wisely  store  the  nursery  by  degrees 
With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquired  with  ease. 
Neatly  secured  from  being  soiled  or  torn 
Beneath  a  pane  of  thin  translucent  horn, 
A  book  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age 
'Tis  called  a  book,  though  but  a  single  page) 
Presents  the  prayer  the  Savior  deigned  to  teach, 
Which  children  use,  and  parsons — when  they  preach. 
Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next 
Through  moral  narrative,  or  sacred  text, 
And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began, 
Who  made,  who  marred,  and  who  has  ransomed  man ; 


124  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Points  which,  unless  the  Scripture  made  them  plain, 
The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vain. 


O  thou, l  whom,  borne  on  Fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 
I  pleased  remember,  and,  while  memory  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget ; 
Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail ; 
Whose  humorous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  style, 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile, 
Witty,  and  well-employed,  and  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word, 
I  name  thee  not,  lest  so  despised  a  name 
Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame ; 
Yet  e'en  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 
That  mingles  all  my  brown  with  sober  gray, 
Revere  the  man  whose  PILGRIM  marks  the  road, 
And  guides  the  PROGRESS  of  the  soul  to  God. 
'Twere  well  with  most,  if  books  that  could  engage 
Their  childhood,  pleased  them  at  a  riper  age; 
The  man,  approving  what  had  charmed  the  boy, 
Would  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy, 
And  not  with  curses  on  his  art  who  stole 
The  gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  soul. 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunce, 
Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once  ; 
That  in  good  time,  the  stripling's  finished  taste 
For  loose  expense  and  fashionable  waste 
Should  prove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last, 
Train  him  in  public  with  a  mob  of  boys, 
Childish  in  mischief  only  and  in  noise, 

1  John  Bunyan 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,   A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  125 

Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and  five  in  ten 
In  infidelity  and  lewdness,  men. 
There  shall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 
That  authors  are  most  useful  pawned  or  sold ; 
That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 
But  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart ; 
There  waiter  Dick,  with  bacchanalian  lays, 
Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise, 
His  counsellor  and  bosom-friend  shall  prove. 

Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  strong, 

Detain  their  adolescent  charge  too  long ; 

The  management  of  tyros  of  eighteen 

Is  difficult,  their  punishment  obscene. 

The  stout,  tall  captain,  whose  superior  size 

The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes, 

Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fix 

Their  whole  attention,  and  ape  all  his  tricks. 

His  pride,  that  scorns  to  obey  or  to  submit, 

With  them  is  courage ;  his  effrontery  wit ; 

His  wild  excursions,  window-breaking  feats, 

Robbery  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets, 

His  hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes, 

Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  favorite  themes; 

In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 

A  kindred  spark,  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 

Thus,  half  accomplished  ere  he  yet  begin 

To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  chin, 

And  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on, 

Made  just  the  adept  that  you  designed  your  son, 

To  insure  the  perseverance  of  his  course, 

And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force, 

Send  him  to  college.     If  he  there  be  tamed, 

Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaimed, 

Where  no  regard  of  ordinance  is  shown, 

Or  look'd  for  now,  the  fault  must  be  his  own. 


126  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Some  sneaking  virtue  lurks  in  him  no  doubt, 

nor  drinking-bout, 
Nor  gambling  practices  can  find  it  out. 

Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too, 
Ye  nurseries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you. 
Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proceeds, 
For  public  schools  'tis  public  folly  feeds. 
The  slaves  of  custom  and  establish'd  mode, 
With  pack-horse  constancy  we  keep  the  road 
Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  dells, 
True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells. 
To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink 
With  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think, 
And  such  an  age  as  ours  balks  no  expense 
Except  of  caution  and  of  common  sense ; 
Else,  sure,  notorious  fact  and  proof  so  plain 
Would  turn  our  steps  into  a  wiser  train. 

I  blame  not  those  who  with  what  care  they  can 

O'erwatch  the  numerous  and  unruly  clan, 

Or  if  I  blame,  'tis  only  that  they  dare 

Promise  a  work  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole, 

An  ubiquarian  presence  and  control, 

Elisha's  eye,  that  when  Gehazi  stray'd 

Went  with  him,  and  saw  all  the  game  he  play'd  ? 

Yes,  ye  are  conscious ;  and  on  all  the  shelves 

Your  pupils  strike  upon,  have  struck  yourselves. 

Or  if  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then, 

Boys  as  ye  were,  the  gravity  of  men. 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofs  address'd 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  of  the  rest, 

But  ye  connive  at  what  ye  cannot  cure, 

And  evils  not  to  be  endured,  endure, 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,   A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  127 

Lest  power  exerted,  but  without  success, 

Should  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Ye  once  were  justly  famed  for  bringing  forth 

Undoubted  scholarship  and  genuine  worth, 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  glory  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs, 

Of  poets  raised  by  you,  and  statesmen,  and  divines. 

Peace  to  them  all !  those  brilliant  times  are  fled, 

And  no  such  lights  are  kindling  in  their  stead. 

Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  but  with  such  rays 

As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  a  blaze, 

And  seem,  if  judged  by  their  expressive  looks, 

Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 


Say,  Muse  (for  education  made  the  song, 
No  Muse  can  hesitate  or  linger  long), 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing,  as  we  must, 
That  these  menageries  all  fail  their  trust, 
To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there, 
While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care  ? 
Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days. 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill, 
The  very  name  we  carved  subsisting  still ; 
The  bench  on  which  we  sat  while  deep  employed, 
Though  mangled,  hacked,  and  hewed,  not  yet  destroyed ; 
The  little  ones,  unbuttoned,  glowing  hot, 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot, 
As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw ; 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat, 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dexterous  pat; 
The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 


128  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Such  recollection  of  our  own  delights, 

That  viewing  it  we  seem  almost  to  obtain 

Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again. 

This  fond  attachment  to  the  well-known  place, 

Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race, 

Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 

We  feel  it  e'en  in  age,  and  at  our  latest  day. 

Hark !  how  the  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  share 

Of  classic  food  begins  to  be  his  care, 

With  his  own  likeness  placed  on  either  knee, 

Indulges  all  a  father's  heart-felt  glee, 

And  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks, 

That  they  must  soon  learn  Latin,  and  to  box ; 

Then,  turning,  he  regales  his  listening  wife 

With  all  the  adventures  of  his  early  life, 

His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise, 

In  bilking  tavern-bills,  and  spouting  plays ; 

What  shifts  he  used,  detected  in  a  scrape, 

How  he  was  flogged,  or  had  the  luck  to  escape ; 

What  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  he  sold 

Watch,  seals,  and  all — till  all  his  pranks  are  told. 

Retracing  thus  his  frolics  ('tis  a  name 

That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame), 

He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway, 

Resolves  that  where  he  play'd  his  sons  shall  play, 

And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  shown 

Just  in  the  scene  where  he  display'd  his  own. 

The  meek  and  bashful  boy  will  soon  be  taught 

To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 

The  rude  will  scuffle  through  with  ease  enough, 

Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 

Ah  happy  designation,  prudent  choice, 

The  event  is  sure,  expect  it  and  rejoice ! 

Soon  see  your  wish  fulfilled  in  either  child, 

The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tame  made  wild. 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  129 

Our  public  hives  of  puerile  resort 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approved  report, 
To  such  base  hopes  in  many  a  sordid  soul 
Owe  their  repute  in  part,  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestion'd  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass — 
That  with  a  world  not  often  over-nice 
Ranks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  yet  a  vice, 
Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried, 
Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride — 
Contributes  most  perhaps  to  enhance  their  fame, 
And  emulation 1  is  its  specious  name. 
Boys  once  on  fire  with  that  contentious  zeal 
Feel  all  the  rage  that  female  rivals  feel, 
The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 

1  But  is  there  not  a  good  sense  and  a  bad  sense  associated  with  the  term  emu- 
lation 9 — and  have  not  these  eager  disputants  fallen  into  the  same  error  in  this 
matter  that  the  two  knights  committed,  when  they  immolated  each  other  in  a 
contest  about  the  question  whether  a  shield  was  gold  or  silver,  when  each  had 
seen  but  one  side  of  it  ?  I  incline  to  the  opinion  that  this  is  the  case,  and  that 
those  who  wax  so  warm  in  this  contest  would  do  well  to  give  us  at  the  outset  a 
careful  definition  of  the  term  emulation,  as  they  intend  to  use  it.  This  would 
perhaps  save  themselves  a  great  deal  of  toil,  and  their  readers  a  great  deal  of 
perplexity.  Now,  it  seems  to  me,  the  truth  of  this  question  lies  within  a 
nutshell.  If  emulation  means  a  desire  for  improvement,  progress,  groivth,  an 
ardent  wish  to  rise  above  one's  present  condition  or  attainments,  or  even  an 
aspiration  to  attain  to  eminence  in  the  school  or  in  the  world,  it  is  a  laudable 
motive.  This  is  self-emulation.  It  presses  the  individual  on  to  surpass  him- 
self. It  compares  his  present  condition  with  what  he  would  be — with  what  he 
ought  to  be;  and,  "forgetting  those  things  which  are  behind,  and  reaching 
forth  unto  those  which  are  before,"  he  presses  toward  the  mark  for  the  prize.  An 
ardor  kindled  by  the  praiseworthy  examples  of  others,  inciting  to  imitate  them, 
or  to  equal  or  even  excel  them,  without  the  desire  of  depressing  them,  is  the 
sense  in  which  the  apostle  uses  the  term  (Romans  xi.  14),  when  he  says,  "If  by 
any  means  I  may  provoke  to  emulation  them  which  are  my  flesh,  and  might  save 
some  of  them."  If  this  be  the  meaning  of  emulation,  it  is  every  way  a  worthy 
principle  to  be  appealed  to  in  school.  This  principle  exists  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent  in  the  mind  of  every  child,  and  may  very  safely  be  strengthened  by  being 
called  by  the  teacher  into  lively  exercise,  provided,  always,  that  the  eminence 
is  sought  from  a  desire  to  be  useful,  and  not  from  a  desire  of  self-glorification. — 
Page's  "Theory  and  Practice  of  Teaching." 

3.4L— 9 


130  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Not  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize. 
The  spirit  of  that  competition  burns 
With  all  varieties  of  ill  by  turns. 
Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success, 
Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less, 
Exults  in  his  miscarriage  if  he  fail, 
Deems  his  reward  too  great  if  he  prevail, 
And  labors  to  surpass  him  day  and  night, 
Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 
The  spur  is  powerful,  and  I  grant  its  force ; 
It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 
Allows  short  time  for  play,  and  none  for  sloth, 
And,  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both. 
But  judge  where  so  much  evil  intervenes, 
The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 
Weigh,  for  a  moment,  classical  desert 
Against  a  heart  depraved  and  temper  hurt, 
Hurt,  too,  perhaps  for  life,  for  early  wrong 
Done  to  the  nobler  part  affects  it  long; 
And  you  are  staunch  indeed  in  learning's  cause 
If  you  can  crown  a  discipline  that  draws 
Such  mischiefs  after  it  with  much  applause. 

Connection  formed  for  interest,  and  endeared 
By  selfish  views,  thus  censured  and  cashiered ; 
And  Emulation,  as  engendering  hate, 
Doomed  to  a  no  less  ignominious  fate : 
The  props  of  such  proud  seminaries  fall, 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz  of  them  all. 
Great  schools  rejected,  then,  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  managed  well, 
Shall  royal  institutions  miss  the  bays, 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise  ? 

Force  not  my  drift  beyond  its  just  intent, 
I  praise  a  school  as  Pope  a  government ; 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  131 

So  take  my  judgment  in  his  language  dressed, 
"  Whate'er  is  best  administered  is  best." 
Few  boys  are  born  with  talents  that  excel, 
But  all  are  capable  of  living  well. 
Then  ask  not,  whether  limited  or  large? 
But,  watch  they  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge? 
If  anxious  only  that  their  boys  may  learn, 
While  morals  languish,  a  despised  concern, 
The  great  and  small  deserve  one  common  blame, 
Different  in  size,  but  in  effect  the  same. 
Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast, 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most ; 
Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound, 
For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  found ; 
Though  there,  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  do, 
Traps  to  catch  youth  are  most  abundant  too. 

If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well-constructed  brain, 

Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vigorous  to  retain, 

Your  son  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill, 

As  wheresoever  taught,  so  formed,  he  will, 

The  pedagogue,  with  self-complacent  air, 

Claims  more  than  half  the  praise  as  his  due  share ; 

But  if,  with  all  his  genius,  he  betray, 

Not  more  intelligent  than  loose  and  gay, 

Such  vicious  habits  as  disgrace  his  name, 

Threaten  his  health,  his  fortune,  and  his  fame, 

Though  want  of  due  restraint  alone  have  bred 

The  symptoms  that  you  see  with  so  much  dread, 

Unenvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone 

The  whole  reproach,  the  fault  was  all  his  own. 

Oh !  'tis  a  sight  to  be  with  joy  perused 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abused, 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace 
Of  those  who  never  feel  in  the  right  place, 


132  WILLIAM  COWPER 

A  sight  surpassed  by  none  that  we  can  show, 

Though  Vestris  on  one  leg  still  shine  below, 

A  father  blest  with  an  ingenuous  son, 

Father  and  friend  and  tutor  all  in  one. 

How  ?  turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot, 

Msop  and  Phaedrus  and  the  rest  ? — why  not  ? 

He  will  not  blush  that  has  a  father's  heart, 

To  take  in  childish  plays  a  childish  part, 

But  bends  his  sturdy  back  to  any  toy 

That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  please  his  boy; 

Then  why  resign  into  a  stranger's  hand 

A  task  as  much  within  your  own  command, 

That  God  and  nature  and  your  interest  too 

Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you  ? 

Why  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown 

For  one  whose  tenderest  thoughts  all  hover  round  your 

own? 

This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is, 
How  does  it  lacerate  both  your  heart  and  his ! 
The  indented  stick  that  loses  day  by  day 
Notch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smooth 'd  away, 
Bears  witness  long  ere  his  dismission  come, 
With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 
But  though  the  joys  he  hopes  beneath  your  roof 
Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  the  proof, 
Harmless  and  safe  and  natural  as  they  are, 
A  disappointment  waits  him  even  there : 
Arrived  he  feels  an  unexpected  change, 
He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange, 
No  longer  takes,  as  once,  with  fearless  ease 
His  favorite  stand  between  his  father's  knees, 
But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat, 
And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat, 
And,  least  familiar  where  he  should  be  most, 
Feels  all  his  happiest  privileges  lost. 
Alas,  poor  boy ! — the  natural  effect 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  133 

Of  love  by  absence  chilled  into  respect. 

Say,  what  accomplishments  at  school  acquired 

Brings  he  to  sweeten  fruits  so  undesired  ? 

Thou  well  deservest  an  alienated  son, 

Unless  thy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none ; 

None  that  in  thy  domestic  snug  recess, 

He  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address, 

Though  some  perhaps  that  shock  thy  feeling  mind, 

And  better  never  learn'd,  or  left  behind. 

Add  too,  that  thus  estranged  thou  canst  obtain 

By  110  kind  arts  his  confidence  again, 

That  here  begins  with  most  that  long  complaint 

Of  filial  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint, 

Which,  oft  neglected  in  life's  waning  years, 

A  parent  pours  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  boughs  in  which  are  bred  the  unseemly  race, 
While  every  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  rivell'd  leaves ; 
So  numerous  are  the  follies  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  every  sprightly  boy, 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse, 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
The  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand, 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command, 
To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 
Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 

'Tis  not  enough  that  Greek  or  Roman  page 
At  stated  hours  his  freakish  thoughts  engage. 
E'en  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend 
To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend, 


134  WILLIAM  COWPER 

O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside, 

Watch  his  emotions  and  control  their  tide, 

And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 

A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 

To  impress  a  value,  not  to  be  erased, 

On  moments  squandered  else,  and  running  all  to  waste. 

And  seems  it  nothing  in  a  father's  eye 

That  unimproved  thosernany  moments  fly? 

And  is  he  well  content  his  son  should  find 

No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind, 

But  conjugated  verbs,  and  nouns  declined? 

For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purveyed 

By  public  hackneys  in  the  schooling  trade; 

Who  feed  a  pupil's  intellect  with  store 

Of  syntax  truly,  but  with  little  more, 

Dismiss  their  cares  when  they  dismiss  their  flock, 

Machines  themselves,  and  governed  by  a  clock. 

Perhaps  a  father  blessed  with  any  brains 

Would  deem  it  no  abuse,  or  waste  of  pains, 

To  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  expense, 

With  savory  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense; 

To  lead  his  son  for  prospects  of  delight, 

To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophic,  height, 

Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wondering  eyes 

Yon  circling  worlds,  their  distance,  and  their  size, 

The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 

And  the  harmonious  order  of  them  all ; 

To  show  him  in  an  insect  or  a  flower, 

Such  microscopic  proof  of  skill  and  power, 

As,  hid  from  ages  past,  God  now  displays 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modern  days; 

To  spread  the  earth  before  him  and  commend, 

With  designation  of  the  finger's  end, 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note, 

Thus  bringing  home  to  him  the  most  remote; 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  135 

To  teach  his  heart  to  glow  with  generous  flame, 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame; 

And  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due, 

To  set  some  living  worthy  in  his  view, 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  must  admire. 

Such  knowledge,  gained  betimes,  and  which  appears, 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years, 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport, 

When  health  demands  it,  of  athletic  sort, 

Would  make  him  what  some  lovely  boys  have  been, 

And  more  than  one  perhaps  that  I  have  seen, 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both 

Of  the  mere  schoolboy's  lean  and  tardy  growth. 


Art  thou  a  man  professionally  tied, 
With  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied, 
Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care 
Than  how  to  enrich  thyself  and  next,  thine  heir; 
Or  art  thou  (as  though  rich,  perhaps  thou  art) 
But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  to  impart, — 
Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  clad, 
His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad, 
Not  of  a  nimble  tongue,  though  now  and  then 
Heard  to  articulate  like  other  men, 
No  jester,  and  yet  lively  in  discourse, 
His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  of  force, 
And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease, 
Not  English  stiff,  but  frank,  and  form'd  to  please, 
Low  in  the  world  because  he  scorns  its  arts, 
A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  parts, 
Unpatronized,  and  therefore  little  known, 
Wise  for  himself  and  his  few  friends  alone, 
In  him,  thy  well-appointed  proxy  see, 
Armed  for  a  work  too  difficult  for  thee, 


136  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Prepared  by  taste,  by  learning,  and  true  worth, 
To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  forth, 
Beneath  thy  roof,  beneath  thine  eye  to  prove 
The  force  of  discipline  when  back'd  by  love ; l 
To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  child, 
His  mind  informed,  his  morals  undefiled. 
Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 
No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below, 
Nor  taint  his  speech  with  meannesses  design'd 
By  footman  Tom  for  witty  and  refined. 
There, — in  his  commerce  with  the  liveried  herd 
Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  fear'd. 


To  you,  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state, 
Securely  placed  between  the  small  and  great, 
Whose  character,  yet  undebauched,  retains 
Two  thirds  of  all  the  virtue  that  remains, 
Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  sons  should  learn 
Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  I  turn. 
Look  round  you  on  a  world  perversely  blind ; 
See  what  contempt  is  fallen  on  humankind ; 
See  wealth  abused,  and  dignities  misplaced, 
Great  titles,  offices,  and  trusts  disgraced, 
Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renowned  of  old, 
Their  noble  qualities  all  quenched  and  cold; 
See  Bedlam's  closeted  and  handcuffed  charge 
Surpassed  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large ; 
See  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade, 
Great  lawyers,  lawyers  without  study  made; 

1  It  will  be  seen  that  Cowper's  plan,  like  Rousseau's,  requires  a  personal  men- 
tor, rather  than  a  school-teacher.  The  ideal  mentor  is  beautifully  portrayed  in 
Fenelon's  unique  (French)  classic,  "  TeUmaque,"  in  which  the  instructor  of  the 
son  of  Ulysses  is  at  once  a  teacher,  a  monitor,  a  companion — a  guardian  angel. 
Mentor,  in  the  story,  is  not  a  schoolmaster,  yet  is  a  type  of  v/hat  the  ideal  school- 
master should  be,  in  person ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  dissociate  in  our  minds  the 
two  ideals. 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  137 

Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 

Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy. 

Who,  far  enough  from  furnishing  their  shelves 

With  Gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  themselves ; 

See  womanhood  despised,  and  manhood  shamed 

With  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  named, 

Fops  at  all  corners,  ladylike  in  mien, 

Civeted  fellows,  smelt  ere  they  are  seen, 

Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 

On  fire  with  curses  and  with  nonsense  hung. 

See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts 

Men  well  endowed,  of  honourable  parts, 

Design'd  by  nature  wise,  but  self-made  fools ; 

All  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schools. 

And  if  it  chance,  as  sometimes  chance  it  will, 

That  though  school  bred,  the  boy  be  virtuous  still, 

Such  rare  exceptions  shining  in  the  dark, 

Prove  rather  than  impeach  the  just  remark, 

As  here  and  there  a  twinkling  star  descried 

Serves  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 

Now  look  on  him  whose  very  voice  in  tone 

Just  echoes  thine,  whose  features  are  thine  own, 

And  stroke  his  polish 'd  cheek  of  purest  red, 

And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head, 

And  say, — "  My  boy,  the  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 

When  thou,  transplanted  from  thy  genial  home, 

Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air, 

And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care. 

What  character,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 

From  constant  converse  with  I  know  not  whom ; 

Who  there  will  court  thy  friendship,  with  what  views, 

And,  artless  as  thou  art,  whom  thou  wilt  choose ; 

Though  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be, 

Is  all  chance-medley,  and  unknown  to  me." 

Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lids, 


138  WILLIAM  COWPER 

And  while  the  dreadful  risk  foreseen  forbids; 

Free,  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force, 

Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course ; 

Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side, 

Merely  to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide  ? 

Thou  canst  not !    Nature,  pulling  at  thine  heart, 

Condemns  the  unfatherly,  the  imprudent  part. 

Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tenderest  plea, 

Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea, 

Nor  say, — "Go  thither;  " — conscious  that  there  lay 

A  brood  of  asps,  or  quicksands,  in  his  way ; 

Then,  only  governed  by  the  self-same  rule 

Of  natural  pity,  send  him  not  to  school. 

No  ! — guard  him  better.     Is  he  not  thine  own, 
Thyself  in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 
And  hopest  thou  not  ('tis  every  father's  hope) 
That,  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  elope, 
And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort  to  assuage 
Health's  last  farewell,  a  staff  of  thine  old  age, 
That  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares, 
Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  gray  hairs, 
Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  bereft, 
And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  left? 
Aware,  then,  how  much  danger  intervenes, 
To  compass  that  good  end,  forecast  the  means. 
His  heart,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command ; 
Secure  it  thine,  its  key  is  in  thine  hand. 
If  thou  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide, 
Nor  heed  what  guests  there  enter  and  abide, 
Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base 
Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place. 
But  if  thou  guard  its  sacred  chambers  sure 
From  vicious  inmates  and  delights  impure, 
Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast, 
And  keep  him  warm  and  filial  to  the  last, 


TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  139 

Or  if  he  prove  unkind  (as  who  can  say 
But,  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may), 
One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 
Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

"  Oh  barbarous !  wouldst  thou  with  a  Gothic  hand 

Pull  down  the  schools — what! — all  the  schools  i'  th'  land? 

Or  throw  them  up  to  livery-nags  and  grooms  ? 

Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction  rooms  ?  " 

A  captious  question,  sir,  (and  yours  is  one), 

Deserves  an  answer  similar,  or  none. 

Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  flock,  employ 

(Apprised  that  he  is  such)  a  careless  boy, 

And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay, 

Merely  to  sleep,  and  let  them  run  astray  ? 

Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 

A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile. 

From  education,  as  the  leading  cause, 

The  public  character  its  color  draws, 

Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast, 

Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 

And  though  I  would  not  advertise  them  yet, 

Nor  write  on  each — This  Building  to  be  Let, 

Unless  the  world  were  all  prepared  to  embrace 

A  plan  well  worthy  to  supply  their  place, 

Yet  backward  as  they  are,  and  long  have  been, 

To  cultivate  and  keep  the  morals  clean, 

(Forgive  the  crime)  I  wish  them,  I  confess, 

Or  better  managed,  or  encouraged  less. 

The  Sage   Called   "Discipline" 

(From  "  The  Task") 

In  colleges  and  halls,1  in  ancient  days, 
When  learning,  virtue,  piety  and  truth 

'colleges  in  English  universities,  or,  as  in  Oxford,  organizations  differing  from 
colleges  chiefly  in  being  without  endowment 


140  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Were  precious  and  inculcated  with  care, 

There  dwelt  a  sage  call'd  Discipline.     His  head 

Not  yet  by  time  completely  silver'd  o'er,    • 

Bespoke  him  past  the  bounds  of  freakish  youth, 

But  strong  for  service  still,  and  unimpair'd. 

His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 

Play'd  on  his  lips,  and  in  his  speech  was  heard 

Paternal  sweetness,  dignity  and  love. 

The  occupation  dearest  to  his  heart 

Was  to  encourage  goodness.     He  would  stroke 

The  head  of  modest  and  ingenuous  worth, 

That  blush'd  at  his  own  praise ;  and  press  the  youth 

Close  to  his  side  that  pleased  him.     Learning  grew, 

Beneath  his  care,  a  thriving  vigorous  plant ; 

The  mind  was  well-inform'd,  the  passions  held 

Subordinate,  and  diligence  was  choice. 

If  e'er  it  chanced,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must, 

That  one  among  so  many  overleap'd 

The  limits  of  control,  his  gentle  eye 

Grew  stern,  and  darted  a  severe  rebuke ; 

His  frown  was  full  of  terror,  and  his  voice 

Shook  the  delinquent  with  such  fits  of  awe 

As  left  him  not  till  penitence  had  won 

Lost  favor  back  again,  and  closed  the  breach. 

But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long, 

Declined  at  length  into  the  vale  of  years ; 

A  palsy  struck  his  arm  ;  his  sparkling  eye 

Was  quench'd  in  rheums  of  age,  his  voice,  unstrung, 

Grew  tremulous,  and  moved  derision  more 

Than  reverence,  in  perverse  rebellious  youth. 


So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 
Their  good  old  friend,  and  Discipline,  at  length, 
O'erlook'd  and  unemploy'd,  fell  sick  and  died. 
Then  study  languish'd,  emulation  slept, 


THE  SAGE   CALLED   "DISCIPLINE"  141 

And  virtue  fled.     The  schools  became  a  scene 

Of  solemn  farce,  where  ignorance  in  stilts, 

His  cap  well  lined  with  logic  not  his  own, 

With  parrot-tongue  perform'd  the  scholar's  part, 

Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 

Then  compromise  had  place,  and  scrutiny 

Became  stone-blind,  precedence  went  in  truck, 

And  he  was  competent  whose  purse  was  so. 

A  dissolution  of  all  bonds  ensued ; 

The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  mouth 

Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken ;  bars  and  bolts 

Grew  rusty  by  disuse,  and  massy  gates 

Forgot  their  office,  opening  with  a  touch ; 

Till  gowns  at  length  were  found  mere  masquerade ; 

The  tassell'd  cap  and  the  spruce  band  a  jest, 

A  mockery  of  the  world.     What  need  of  these 

For  gamesters,  jockeys,  brothellers  impure, 

Spendthrifts  and  booted  sportsmen,  oftener  seen 

With  belted  waist  and  pointers  at  their  heels, 

Than  in  the  bounds  of  duty  ?     What  was  learn'd, 

If  aught  was  learn'd  in  childhood,  is  forgot, 

And  such  expense  as  pinches  parents  blue, 

And  mortifies  the  liberal  hand  of  love, 

Is  squander'd  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 

And  vicious  pleasures ;  buys  the  boy  a  name 

That  sits  a  stigma  on  his  father's  house, 

And  cleaves  through  life  inseparably  close 

To  him  that  wears  it.     What  can  after-games 

Of  riper  joys,  and  commerce  with  the  world, 

The  lewd  vain  world  that  must  receive  him  soon, 

Add  to  such  erudition  thus  acquired 

Where  science  and  where  virtue  are  profess'd? 

They  may  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 

His  folly,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  task 

That  bids  defiance  to  the  united  powers 

Of  fashion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews. 


142  WILLIAM  COWPER 

Now  blame  we  most  the  nurselings  or  the  nurse  ? 
The  children  crook 'd  and  twisted  and  deform'd 
Through  want  of  care,  or  her  whose  winking  eye 
And  slumbering  oscitancy  mars  the  brood  ? 
The  nurse,  no  doubt.     Regardless  of  her  charge, 
She  needs  herself  correction  ;  needs  to  learn 
That  it  is  dangerous  sporting  with  the  world, 
With  things  so  sacred  as  a  nation's  trust, 
The  nurture  of  her  youth,  her  dearest  pledge. 

All  are  not  such.     I  had  a  brother,  once, — 

Peace  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  worth, 

A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners,  too ; 

Of  manners  sweet  as  virtue  always  wears, 

When  gay  good-nature  dresses  her  in  smiles. 

He  graced  a  college  in  which  order  yet 

Was  sacred,  and  was  honor'd,  loved  and  wept 

By  more  than  one,  themselves  conspicuous  there. 

Some  minds  are  temper'd  happily  and  mixed 

With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense  and  taste 

Of  what  is  excellent  in  man,  they  thirst 

With  such  a  zeal  to  be  what  they  approve, 

That  no  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 

Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  wisdom's  sake. 

Nor  can  example  hurt  them,  what  they  see 

Of  vice  in  others  but  enhancing  more 

The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem. 

If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 

Pure  from  so  foul  a  pool,  to  shine  abroad, 

And  give  the  world  their  talents  and  themselves. 

Small  thanks  to  those  whose  negligence  or  sloth 

Exposed  their  inexperience  to  the  snare, 

And  left  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 


JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON  GOETHE 

1749-1832 

JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON  GOETHE,  whose  name  is  the  greatest  in 
German  literature,  was  born  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  in  1749.  His 
father  was  an  imperial  councilor,  a  man  of  cultivated  tastes  and  ample 
wealth.  Goethe  passed  his  youth  in  the  ancient  free  city  of  his  birth, 
and  at  the  age  of  sixteen  entered  college  at  Leipsic.  In  1770  he  went 
to  the  university  at  Strasburg,  from  which,  a  year  later,  he  received 
the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Jurisprudence.  In  1775,  already  a  famous 
author,  he  was  invited  by  Charles  Augustus,  Grand  Duke  of  Saxe- 
Weimar,  to  the  court  at  Weimar,  and  appointed  privy  councilor  of 
legation.  Here  he  lived  and  died. 

Goethe's  writings  covered  so  wide  a  range  of  letters,  and  his  long 
life  was  so  full  of  masterly  work,  that  it  is  practicable  to  mention 
within  the  limits  of  a  brief  sketch  the  names  of  only  a  few  of  his  great- 
est productions.  Goethe's  first  noted  work  was  "  Gotz  von  Berlich- 
ingen,"  which  appeared  in  1773.  "  The  Sorrows  of  Werther  "  followed 
in  1774.  His  first  important  work  issued  from  Weimar  was  the  drama 
"  Iphigenia  at  Tauris."  "  Wilhelm  Meister's  Apprenticeship"  and 
"Wilhelm  Meister's  Wanderjahre  "  are  nondescript  and  deeply  sig- 
nificant productions,  generally  classed  as  romances.  "Truth  and 
Poetry  "  is  a  sort  of  rambling  autobiography.  Goethe's  greatest  work 
is  "  Faust,"  a  drama  of  wonderful  power  and  deep  insight  into  human 
nature.  Goethe  has  been  called  the  sad  Shakespeare  of  the  later  world. 
One  is  amazed  at  the  universality  of  his  genius.  He  died  in  1832,  at 
the  height  of  his  fame. 

"  A  beautiful  death,"  says  Thomas  Carlyle,  "  like  that  of  a  soldier 
found  faithful  at  his  post,  and  in  the  cold  hand  his  arms  still  grasped ! 
The  poet's  last  words  are  a  greeting  of  the  new-awakened  earth  ;  his 
last  movement  is  to  work  at  his  appointed  task.  Beautiful ;  what  we 
might  call  a  classic,  sacred  death,  if  it  were  not  rather  an  Elijah- 
translation — in  a  chariot,  not  of  fire  and  terror,  but  of  hope  and  soft 
vernal  sunbeams!  .  .  .  The  unwearied  workman  now  rests  from 
his  labors;  the  fruit  of  these  is  left  growing  and  to  grow.  His  earthly 
years  have  been  numbered,  and  are  ended ;  but  of  his  activity  (for  it 
stood  rooted  in  the  eternal)  there  is  no  end.  All  that  we  mean  by  the 

143 


144  JOHANN  WOLFGANG   VON  GOETHE 

higher  literature  of  Germany,  which  is  the  higher  literature  of  Europe, 
already  gathers  round  this  man  as  its  creator;  of  which  grand  object, 
dawning  mysteriously  on  a  world  that  hoped  not  for  it,  who  is  there 
that  can  measure  the  significance  and  far-reaching  influences?" 

Characterization 

The  story  of  •"  Wilhelm  Meister's  Wanderjahre"  is  almost  devoid  of 
connected  plot,  and  is  used  rather  as  a  vehicle  for  a  number  of  detached 
dissertations  and  apologues  than  as  a  presentation  of  character  or  an 
illustration  of  life.  For  this  reason  it  has  been  made  the  subject  of 
adverse  criticism,  and  many  of  the  independent  sections  have  been 
valued  less  highly  than  would  have  been  the  case  if  they  had  been 
offered  to  the  reader  in  a  more  artistic  setting  and  more  intelligible 
association.  But  the  too  evident  want  of  coherence  in  the  whole,  and 
the  defects  for  which  the  author  more  than  once  apologizes,  do  not 
deprive  its  contents  of  all  value.  The  book  has  been  severely  criticised 
by  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes,  who  speaks  of  its  composition  as  "feeble"  and 
"careless,"  and  cites  a  passage  from  Eckermann  showing  that  the 
second  edition  was  purposely  made  the  receptacle  of  various  odds  and 
ends  which  very  possibly  would  otherwise  have  remained  unprinted. 
But  even  in  the  siftings  of  Goethe's  work  many  grains  of  gold  may 
be  found ;  and,  apart  from  the  separate  interest  of  some  of  the  detached 
pieces,  there  is  sufficient  purpose  evident  in  the  whole  to  give  it  a  con- 
crete value.  The  main  design  is  apparently  the  promulgation  of  a 
system  of  education  and  social  life,  as  set  forth  in  the  sections  relating 
to  the  Pedagogic  Province.  Unpractical  as  this  system  may  seem,  it 
is  not  more  so  than  plans  which  have  been  gravely  propounded  and 
set  afoot  in  our  own  day,  and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  in  generations 
to  come  there  will  be  found  educational  reformers  who  may  read  with 
profit  the  description  of  Goethe's  Pedagogic  Utopia. 

EDWARD  BELL. 

Selections  from   "Wilhelm    Meister's   Wanderjahre"1 

(Extract  from  a  letter  from  Wilhelm  Meister  to  Natalia,  his 
wife,  concerning  his  son  Felix.)  "  I  have  to  pass  over  many 
beautiful  features  of  the  common  life  of  these  virtuous  and 

1  This  word  is  commonly  translated  Travels,  but  has  in  reality  no  equivalent 
in  English.  It  denotes  the  period  in  which,  by  law  or  custom,  a  German  artisan 
L  required  to  sojourn  in  different  places  to  perfect  himself  in  his  craft,  after  the 
completion  of  his  apprenticeship. 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRE  145 

happy  people;  for  how  could  everything  be  written?  A  few 
days  I  have  spent  pleasantly,  but  the  third  already  warns  me 
to  bethink  me  of  my  further  travels. 

"To-day  I  had  a  little  dispute  with  Felix,  for  he  wanted 
almost  to  compel  me  to  transgress  one  of  the  good  intentions 
which  I  have  promised  you  to  keep.  Now  it  is  just  a  defect,  a 
misfortune,  a  fatality  with  me,  that,  before  I  am  aware  of  it, 
the  company  increases  around  me,  and  I  charge  myself  with  a 
fresh  burden,  under  which  I  afterwards  have  to  toil  and  to  drag 
myself  along.  Now,  during  my  travels,  we  must  have  no  third 
person  as  a  constant  companion.  We  wish  and  intend  to  be 
and  to  remain  two  only,  and  it  has  but  just  now  seemed  as  if 
a  new,  and  not  exactly  pleasing,  connection  was  likely  to  be 
formed. 

"  A  poor,  merry  little  youngster  had  joined  the  children  of 
the  house,  with  whom  Felix  had  been  enjoying  these  days  in 
play,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  used  or  abused  just  as  the  game 
required,  and  who  very  soon  won  the  favor  of  Felix.  From 
various  expressions  I  noticed  already  that  the  latter  had  chosen 
a  playmate  for  the  next  journey.  The  boy  is  known  here  in 
the  neighborhood  ;  he  is  tolerated  everywhere  on  account  of 
his  merriness,  and  occasionally  receives  gratuities.  But  he  did 
not  please  me,  and  I  begged  the  master  of  the  house  to  send 
him  away.  This  was  accordingly  done,  but  Felix  was  vexed 
about  it,  and  there  was  a  little  scene. 

"  On  this  occasion  I  made  a  discovery  which  pleased  me.  In 
a  corner  of  the  chapel,  or  hall,  there  stood  a  box  of  stones, 
which  Felix — who  since  our  wandering  through  the  mountain 
had  become  exceedingly  fond  of  stones — eagerly  pulled  out  and 
examined.  Among  them  were  some  fine,  striking  specimens. 
Our  host  said  that  the  child  might  pick  out  for  himself  any  he 
liked  ;  that  these  stones  were  what  remained  over  from  a  large 
quantity  which  a  stranger  had  sent  from  here  a  short  time 
before.  He  called  him  Montan,1  and  you  can  fancy  how  glad 

1  This  is  a  name  supposed  to  be  assumed  by  Jarno.     See  "  Wilhelm  Meister's 
Apprenticeship." 
s.  M.— 10 


146  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

I  was  to  hear  this  name,  under  which  one  of  our  best  friends, 
to  whom  we  owe  so  much,  is  travelling.  As  I  inquired  as  to 
time  and  circumstances,  I  may  hope  soon  to  meet  with  him  in 
my  travels." 

The  news  that  Montan  was  in  the  neighborhood  had  made 
Wilhelm  thoughtful.  He  considered  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
left  merely  to  chance  whether  he  should  see  such  a  worthy 
friend  again,  and  therefore  he  inquired  of  his  host  whether  it 
was  not  known  in  what  direction  this  traveller  had  bent  his 
way.  No  one  had  any  more  exact  knowledge  of  this,  and 
Wilhelm  had  already  determined  to  pursue  his  route  accord- 
ing to  the  first  plan,  when  Felix  exclaimed,  "  If  father  were 
not  so  obstinate,  we  should  soon  find  Montan." 

"  In  what  manner?  "  asked  Wilhelm. 

Felix  answered :  "  Little  Fitz  said  yesterday  that  he  would 
most  likely  follow  up  the  gentleman  who  had  the  pretty  stones 
with  him,  and  knew  so  much  about  them  too." 

After  some  discussion  Wilhelm  at  last  resolved  to  make  the 
attempt,  and  in  so  doing  to  give  all  the  more  attention  to  the 
suspicious  boy.  He  was  soon  found,  and  when  he  understood 
what  was  intended,  he  brought  a  mallet  and  iron,  and  a  very 
powerful  hammer,  together  with  a  bag,  and,  in  this  miner-like 
equipment,  ran  merrily  in  front. 

The  road  led  sideways  up  the  mountain  again.  The  chil- 
dren ran  leaping  together  from  rock  to  rock,  over  stock  and 
stone,  and  brook  and  stream,  without  following  any  direct  path. 
Fitz,  glancing  now  to  his  right  and  now  to  his  left,  pushed 
quickly  upwards.  As  Wilhelm,  and  particularly  the  loaded 
carrier,  could  not  follow  so  quickly,  the  boys  retraced  the  road 
several  times  forwards  and  backwards,  singing  and  whistling. 
The  forms  of  certain  strange  trees  aroused  the  attention  of 
Felix,  who,  moreover,  now  made  for  the  first  time  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  larches  and  stone-pines,  and  was  attracted  by  the 
wonderful  gentians.  And  thus  the  difficult  travelling  from 
place  to  place  did  not  lack  entertainment. 


WILEELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRE  147 

Little  Fitz  suddenly  stood  still  and  listened.  He  beckoned 
to  the  others  to  come. 

"  Do  you  hear  the  knocking  ?  "  said  he.  "  It  is  the  sound  of 
a  hammer  striking  the  rock." 

"  We  hear  it,"  said  the  others. 

"  It  is  Montan,"  said  he,  "  or  some  one  who  can  give  us  news 
of  him." 

As  they  followed  the  sound,  which  was  repeated  at  intervals, 
they  struck  a  clearing  in  the  forest,  and  beheld  a  steep,  lofty, 
naked  rock,  towering  above  everything,  leaving  even  the  tall 
forests  deep  under  it.  On  the  summit  they  descried  a  person. 
He  stood  at  too  great  a  distance  to  be  recognized.  The  children 
at  once  commenced  to  clamber  up  the  rugged  paths.  Wilhelm 
followed  with  some  difficulty,  nay,  danger;  for  in  ascending  a 
rock,  the  first  one  goes  more  safely,  because  he  feels  his  way  for 
himself ;  the  one  that  follows  only  sees  where  the  former  has 
got  to,  but  not  how.  The  boys  soon  reached  the  top,  and  Wil- 
helm heard  a  loud  shout  of  joy. 

"  It  is  Jarno !  "  Felix  called  out  to  his  father,  and  Jarno  at 
once  stepped  forward  to  a  steep  place,  reached  his  hand  to  his 
friend,  and  pulled  him  up  to  the  top.  They  embraced  and  wel- 
comed each  other  with  rapture  under  the  open  canopy  of  heaven. 

The  two  friends,  not  without  care  and  difficulty,  had  de- 
scended to  join  the  children,  who  had  settled  themselves  in  a 
shady  spot  below.  The  mineral  specimens  collected  by  Montan 
and  Felix  were  unpacked  almost  more  eagerly  than  the  pro- 
visions. The  latter  had  many  questions  to  ask,  and  the  former 
many  names  to  pronounce.  Felix  was  delighted  that  he  could 
tell  him  the  names  of  them  all,  and  committed  them  quickly 
to  memory.  At  last  he  produced  one  more  stone,  and  said, 
"  What  is  this  one  called  ?  " 

Montan  examined  it  with  astonishment,  and  said,  "  Where 
did  you  get  it?" 

Fitz  answered  quickly,  "  I  found  it ;  it  comes  from  this 
country." 


148  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

"  It  is  not  from  this  district,"  replied  Montan. 

Felix  enjoyed  seeing  the  great  man  somewhat  perplexed. 

"  You  shall  have  a  ducat,"  said  Montan,  "  if  you  take  me  to 
the  place  where  it  is  found." 

"  It  will  be  easy  to  earn,"  replied  Fitz,  "  but  not  at  once." 

"  Then  describe  to  me  the  place  exactly,  so  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  find  it  without  fail.  But  that  is  impossible,  for  it  is  a 
cross-stone,  which  comes  from  St.  James  of  Compostella,  and 
which  some  foreigner  has  lost,  if  indeed  you  have  not  stolen  it 
from  him,  because  it  looks  so  wonderful." 

"  Give  your  ducat  to  your  friend  to  take  care  of,"  said  Fitz, 
"and  I  will  honestly  confess  where  I  got  the  stone.  In  the 
ruined  church  at  St.  Joseph's  there  is  a  ruined  altar  as  well. 
Among  the  scattered  and  broken  stones  at  the  top  I  discovered 
a  layer  of  this  stone,  which  served  as  a  bed  for  the  others,  and 
I  knocked  down  as  much  of  it  as  I  could  get  hold  of.  If  you 
only  lifted  away  the  upper  stones,  no  doubt  you  would  find  a 
good  deal  more  of  it." 

"  Take  your  gold  piece,"  replied  Montan ;  "  you  deserve  it  for 
this  discovery.  It  is  a  pretty  one.  One  justly  rejoices  when 
inanimate  nature  brings  to  light  a  semblance  of  what  we  love 
and  venerate.  She  appears  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  sibyl,  who 
sets  down  beforehand  evidence  of  what  has  been  predestined 
from  eternity,  but  can  only  in  the  course  of  time  become  a  real- 
ity. Upon  this,  as  upon  a  miraculous,  holy  foundation,  the 
priests  had  set  their  altar." 

Wilhelm,  who  had  been  listening  for  a  time,  and  who  had 
noticed  that  many  names  and  many  descriptions  came  over  and 
over  again,  repeated  his  already  expressed  wish  that  Montan 
would  tell  him  so  much  as  he  had  need  of  for  the  elementary 
instruction  of  the  boy. 

"  Give  that  up,"  replied  Montan.  "  There  is  nothing  more 
terrible  than  a  teacher  who  does  not  know  more  than  the 
scholars  at  all  events  ought  to  know.  He  who  wants  to  teach 
others  may  often  indeed  be  silent  about  the  best  that  he  knows, 
but  he  must  not  be  half  instructed  himself." 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  149 

"  But  where,  then,  are  such  perfect  teachers  to  be  found  ?  " 

"  You  can  find  them  very  easily,"  replied  Montan. 
.  "  Where  then  ?  "  said  Wilhelm,  with  some  incredulity. 

"  Wherever  the  matter  which  you  want  to  master  is  at  home," 
replied  Montan.  "  The  best  instruction  is  derived  from  the 
most  complete  environment.  Do  you  not  learn  foreign  lan- 
guages best  in  the  countries  where  they  are  at  home — where 
only  those  given  ones  and  no  others  strike  your  ear  ?  " 

"  And  have  you  then,"  asked  Wilhelm,  "  attained  the  knowl- 
edge of  mountains  in  the  midst  of  mountains  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Without  conversing  with  people  ?  "  asked  Wilhelm. 

"  At  least  only  with  people,"  replied  the  other,  "  who  were 
familiar  with  mountains.  Wheresoever  the  Pygmies,  attracted 
by  the  metalliferous  veins,  bore  their  way  through  the  rock 
to  make  the  interior  of  the  earth  accessible,  and  by  every 
means  try  to  solve  problems  of  the  greatest  difficulty,  there  is 
the  place  where  the  thinker  eager  for  knowledge  ought  to  take 
up  his  station.  He  sees  business,  action  ;  lets  things  follow  their 
own  course,  and  is  glad  at  success  and  failure.  What  is  useful 
is  only  a  part  of  what  is  significant.  To  possess  a  subject  com- 
pletely, to  master  it,  one  has  to  study  the  thing  for  its  own  sake. 
But  whilst  I  am  speaking  of  the  highest  and  the  last,  to  which 
we  raise  ourselves  only  late  in  the  day  by  dint  of  frequent  and 
fruitful  observation,  I  see  the  boys  before  me ;  to  them  matters 
sound  quite  differently.  The  child  might  easily  grasp  every 
species  of  activity,  because  everything  looks  easy  that  is  excel- 
lently performed.  Every  beginning  is  difficult  I  That  may  be 
true  in  a  certain  sense,  but  more  generally  one  can  say  that  the 
beginning  of  everything  is  easy,  and  the  last  stages  are  ascended 
with  most  difficulty  and  most  rarely." 

Wilhelm,  who  in  the  meantime  had  been  thinking,  said  to 
Montan,  "  Have  you  really  adopted  the  persuasion  that  the  col- 
lective forms  of  activity  have  to  be  separated  in  precept  as  well 
as  in  practice  ?  " 

"  I  know  no  other  or  better  plan,"  replied  the  former.   "  What- 


150  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

ever  man  would  achieve,  must  loose  itself  from  him  like  a 
second  self;  and  how  could  that  be  possible  if  his  first  self  were 
not  entirely  penetrated  therewith  ?  " 

"  But  yet  a  many-sided  culture  has  been  held  to  be  advan- 
tageous and  necessary." 

"  It  may  be  so,  too,  in  its  proper  time,"  answered  the  other. 
"  Many-sidedness  prepares,  in  point  of  fact,  only  the  element  in 
which  the  one-sided  man  can  work,  who  just  at  this  time  has 
room  enough  given  him.  Yes,  now  is  the  time  for  the  one- 
sided ;  well  for  him  who  comprehends  it,  and  who  works  for 
himself  and  others  in  this  mind.  In  certain  things  it  is  under- 
stood thoroughly  and  at  once.  Practice  till  you  are  an  able 
violinist,  and  be  assured  that  the  director  will  have  pleasure  in 
assigning  you  a  place  in  the  orchestra.  Make  an  instrument  of 
yourself,  and  wait  and  see  what  sort  of  place  humanity  will 
kindly  grant  you  in  universal  life.  Let  us  break  off.  Whoso 
will  not  believe,  let  him  follow  his  own  path ;  he  too  will  suc- 
ceed sometimes;  but  I  say  it  is  needful  everywhere  to  serve 
from  the  ranks  upwards.  To  limit  oneself  to  a  handicraft  is 
the  best.  For  the  narrowest  heads  it  is  always  a  craft ;  for  the 
better  ones  an  art ;  and  the  best,  when  he  does  one  thing,  does 
everything — or,  to  be  less  paradoxical,  in  the  one  thing,  which 
he  does  rightly,  he  beholds  the  semblance  of  everything  that  is 
rightly  done." 

This  conversation,  which  we  only  reproduce  sketchily,  lasted 
until  sunset,  which,  glorious  as  it  was,  yet  led  the  company  to 
consider  where  they  would  spend  the  night. 

"  I  should  not  know  how  to  bring  you  under  cover,"  said 
Fitz  ;  "  but  if  you  care  to  sit  or  lie  down  for  the  night  in  a  warm 
place  at  a  good  old  charcoal-burner's,  you  will  be  welcome." 

And  so  they  all  followed  him  through  strange  paths  to  a 
quiet  spot,  where  any  one  would  soon  have  felt  at  home. 

In  the  midst  of  a  narrow  clearing  in  the  forest  there  lay 
smoking  and  full  of  heat  the  round-roofed  charcoal  kilns,  on  one 
side  the  hut  of  pine  boughs,  and  a  bright  fire  close  by.  They 
sat  down  and  made  themselves  comfortable;  the  children  at 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  161 

once  busy  helping  the  charcoal-burner's  wife,  who,  with  hos- 
pitable anxiety,  was  getting  ready  some  slices  of  bread,  toasted 
with  butter  so  as  to  let  them  be  filled  and  soaked  with  it,  which 
afforded  deliciously  oily  morsels  to  their  hungry  appetites. 

Presently,  whilst  the  boys  were  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
among  the  dimly  lighted  pine  stems,  howling  like  wolves  and 
barking  like  dogs,  in  such  a  way  that  even  a  courageous  way- 
farer might  well  have  been  frightened  by  it,  the  friends  talked 
confidentially  about  their  circumstances. 

But  now,  to  the  peculiar  duties  of  the  Renunciants  apper- 
tained also  this,  that  on  meeting  they  must  speak  neither  about 
the  past  nor  the  future,  but  only  occupy  themselves  with  the 
present. 

Jarno,  who  had  his  mind  full  of  mining  undertakings,  and  of 
all  the  knowledge  and  capabilities  that  they  required,  enthusi- 
astically explained  to  Wilhelm,  with  the  utmost  exactitude  and 
thoroughness,  all  that  he  promised  himself  in  both  hemispheres 
from  such  knowledge  and  capacities;  of  which,  however,  his 
friend,  who  always  sought  for  the  true  treasure  in  the  human 
heart  alone,  could  hardly  form  any  idea,  but  rather  answered 
at  last  with  a  laugh  : 

"  Thus  you  stand  in  contradiction  with  yourself,  when  begin- 
ning only  in  advanced  years  to  meddle  with  what  one  ought  to 
be  instructed  in  from  youth  up." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  other,  "  for  it  is  precisely  this,  that  I 
was  educated  in  my  childhood  at  a  kind  uncle's,  a  mining 
officer  of  consequence,  that  I  grew  up  with  the  miners'  chil- 
dren, and  with  them  used  to  swim  little  bark  boats  down  the 
draining  channel  of  the  mine,  that  has  led  me  back  into  this 
circle  wherein  I  now  feel  myself  again  happy  and  contented. 
This  charcoal  smoke  can  hardly  agree  with  you  as  with  me, 
who  from  childhood  up  have  been  accustomed  to  swallow  it  as 
incense.  I  have  essayed  a  great  deal  in  the  world,  and  always 
found  the  same :  in  habit  lies  the  only  satisfaction  of  man ;  even 
the  unpleasant,  to  which  we  have  accustomed  ourselves,  we  miss 
with  regret.  I  was  once  troubled  a  very  long  time  with  a 


152  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

wound  that  would  not  heal,  and  when  at  last  I  recovered,  it  was 
most  unpleasant  to  me  when  the  surgeon  remained  away  and 
no  longer  dressed  it,  and  no  longer  took  breakfast  with  me." 

"  But  I  should  like,  however,"  replied  Wilhelm,  "  to  impart  to 
my  son  a  freer  survey  of  the  world  than  any  limited  handicraft 
can  give.  Circumscribe  man  as  you  will,  for  all  that  he  will  at 
last  look  about  himself  in  his  time,  and  how  can  he  understand 
it  all,  if  he  does  not  in  some  degree  know  what  has  preceded 
him  ?  And  would  he  not  enter  every  grocer's  shop  with  aston- 
ishment if  he  had  no  idea  of  the  countries  whence  these  indis- 
pensable rarities  have  come  to  him  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  replied  Jarno ;  "  let  him  read  the 
newspapers  like  every  Philistine,  and  drink  coffee  like  every  old 
woman.  But  still,  if  you  cannot  leave  it  alone,  and  are  so  bent 
upon  perfect  culture,  I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  be  so 
blind,  how  you  need  search  any  longer,  how  you  fail  to  see 
that  you  are  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  an  excellent 
educational  institution." 

"  In  the  neighborhood  ?  "  said  Wilhelm,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Certainly  !  "  replied  the  other ;  "  what  do  you  see  here?  " 

"Where?" 

"  Here,  just  before  your  nose  !  "  Jarno  stretched  out  his  fore- 
finger, and  exclaimed  impatiently :  "  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Well  then,"  said  Wilhelm,  "  a  charcoal  kiln ;  but  what  has 
that  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Good,  at  last !  a  charcoal  kiln.  How  do  they  proceed  to 
erect  it?" 

"  They  place  logs  one  on  the  top  of  the  other." 

"  When  that  is  done,  what  happens  next  ?  " 

"  As  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Wilhelm,  "  you  want  to  pay  me  a 
compliment  in  Socratic  fashion — to  make  me  understand,  to 
make  me  acknowledge,  that  I  am  extremely  absurd  and  thick- 
headed." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Jarno ;  "  continue,  my  friend,  to  answer 
to  the  point.  So,  what  happens  then,  when  the  orderly  pile  of 
wood  has  been  arranged  solidly  yet  lightly  ?  " 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  153 

"Why,  they  set  fire  to  it." 

"  And  when  it  is  thoroughly  alight,  when  the  flame  bursts 
forth  from  every  crevice,  what  happens?  Do  they  let  it  burn 
on?" 

"  Not  at  all.  They  cover  up  the  flames,  which  keep  breaking 
out  again  and  again,  with  turf  and  earth,  with  coal  dust,  and 
anything  else  at  hand." 

"To  quench  them?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  to  damp  them  down." 

"  And  thus  they  leave  it  just  as  much  air  as  is  necessary, 
that  all  may  be  penetrated  with  the  glow,  so  that  all  ferments 
aright.  Then  every  crevice  is  shut,  every  outlet  prevented ;  so 
that  the  whole  by  degrees  is  extinguished  in  itself,  carbonized, 
cooled  down,  finally  taken  out  separately,  as  marketable  ware, 
forwarded  to  farrier  and  locksmith,  to  baker  and  cook  ;  and 
when  it  has  served  sufficiently  for  the  profit  and  edification  of 
dear  Christendom,  is  employed  in  the  form  of  ashes  by  washer- 
women and  soap-boilers." 

"  Well,"  replied  Wilhelm,  laughing,  "  what  have  you  in  view 
in  reference  to  this  comparison?" 

"  That  is  not  difficult  to  say,"  replied  Jarno.  "  I  look  upon 
myself  as  an  old  basket  of  excellent  beech  charcoal ;  but  in 
addition  I  allow  myself  the  privilege  of  burning  only  for  my 
own  sake ;  whence  also  I  appear  very  strange  to  people." 

"  And  me,"  said  Wilhelm  ;  "  how  will  you  treat  me  ?'" 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  said  Jarno,  "  I  look  on  you  as  a 
pilgrim's  staff,  which  has  the  wonderful  property  of  sprouting 
in  every  corner  in  which  it  is  put,  but  never  taking  root.  Now 
draw  out  the  comparison  further  for  yourself,  and  learn  to 
understand  why  neither  forester  nor  gardener,  neither  charcoal- 
burner  nor  joiner,  nor  any  other  craftsman,  knows  how  to  make 
anything  of  you." 

Our  pilgrims  had  performed  the  journey  according  to  pro- 
gramme, and  prosperously  reached  the  frontier  of  the  province 
in  which  they  were  to  learn  so  many  wonderful  things.  On 


154  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

their  first  entry  they  beheld  a  most  fertile  region,  the  gentle 
slopes  of  which  were  favorable  to  agriculture,  its  higher 
mountains  to  sheep  feeding,  and  its  broad  valleys  to  the  rearing 
of  cattle.  It  was  shortly  before  the  harvest,  and  everything  was 
in  the  greatest  abundance ;  still,  what  surprised  them  from  the 
outset  was,  that  they  saw  neither  women  nor  men,  but  only  boys 
and  youths  busy  getting  ready  for  a  prosperous  harvest,  and 
even  making  friendly  preparations  for  a  joyous  harvest  home. 
They  greeted  now  one,  and  now  another,  and  inquired  about 
the  master,  of  whose  whereabouts  no  one  could  give  an  account. 
The  address  of  their  letter  was :  To  the  Master  or  to  the  Three,  and 
this  too  the  boys  could  not  explain ;  however,  they  referred  the 
inquirers  to  an  overseer,  who  was  just  preparing  to  mount  his 
horse.  They  explained  their  object ;  Felix's  frank  bearing 
seemed  to  please  him;  and  so  they  rode  together  along  the 
road. 

Wilhelm  had  soon  observed  that  a  great  diversity  prevailed 
in  the  cut  and  color  of  the  clothing,  which  gave  a  peculiar 
aspect  to  the  whole  of  the  little  community.  He  was  just  on  the 
point  of  asking  his  companion  about  this,  when  another  strange 
sight  was  displayed  to  him :  all  the  children,  howsoever  they 
might  be  occupied,  stopped  their  work,  and  turned,  with  peculiar 
yet  various  gestures,  towards  the  party  riding  past ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  infer  that  their  object  was  the  overseer.  The  youngest 
folded  their  arms  crosswise  on  the  breast,  and  looked  cheerfully 
towards  the  sky ;  the  intermediate  ones  held  their  arms  behind 
them,  and  looked  smiling  upon  the  ground ;  the  third  sort  stood 
erect  and  boldly  ;  with  arms  at  the  side,  they  turned  the  head  to 
the  right,  and  placed  themselves  in  a  row,  instead  of  remaining 
alone,  like  the  others,  where  they  were  first  seen. 

Accordingly,  when  they  halted  and  dismounted,  just  where 
several  children  had  ranged  themselves  in  various  attitudes  and 
were  being  inspected  by  the  overseer,  Wilhelm  asked  the  mean- 
ing of  these  gestures. 

Felix  interposed,  and  said  cheerfully :  "  What  position  have  I 
to  take,  then  ?  " 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRE  155 

"  In  any  case,"  answered  the  intendant,  "  at  first  the  arms 
across  the  breast,  and  looking  seriously  and  gladly  upward^ 
without  turning  your  glance."  He  obeyed;  however  he  soon 
exclaimed :  "  This  does  not  please  me  particularly ;  I  see  nothing 
overhead ;  does  it  last  long  ?  But  yes,  indeed,"  he  exclaimed 
joyfully,  "  I  see  two  hawks  flying  from  west  to  east ;  that  must 
be  a  good  omen  ! " 

"  It  depends  on  how  you  take  to  it,  how  you  behave  your- 
self," rejoined  the  former ;  "  now  go  and  mingle  with  them,  just 
as  they  mingle  with  each  other." 

He  made  a  sign,  the  children  forsook  their  attitudes,  resumed 
their  occupations  or  went  on  playing  as  before. 

"  Will  you,  and  can  you,"  Wilhelm  now  asked,  "  explain  to 
me  that  which  causes  my  wonder  ?  I  suppose  that  these  gestures, 
these  positions,  are  greetings,  with  which  they  welcome  you." 

"  Just  so,"  answered  the  other ;  "  greetings,  that  tell  me  at 
once  at  what  stage  of  cultivation  each  of  these  boys  stands." 

"  But  could  you,"  Wilhelm  added,  "  explain  to  me  the  mean- 
ing of  the  graduation  ?  For  that  it  is  such,  is  easy  to  see." 

"  That  is  the  part  of  better  people  than  me,"  answered  the 
other ;  "  but  I  can  assure  you  of  this  much,  that  they  are  no 
empty  grimaces,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  we  impart  to  the 
children,  not  indeed  the  highest,  but  still  a  guiding  and  intelli- 
gible explanation ;  but  at  the  same  time  we  command  each  to 
keep  and  cherish  for  himself  what  we  may  have  chosen  to 
impart  for  the  information  of  each :  they  may  not  chat  about  it 
with  strangers,  nor  amongst  themselves,  and  thus  the  teaching  is 
modified  in  a  hundred  ways.  Besides  this  the  secrecy  has  very 
great  advantages ;  for  if  we  tell  people  immediately  and  perpet- 
ually the  reason  of  everything,  they  think  that  there  is  nothing 
behind.  To  certain  secrets,  even  if  they  may  be  known,  we 
have  to  show  deference  by  concealment  and  silence,  for  this 
tends  to  modesty  and  good  morals." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Wilhelm.  "  Why  should  we  not 
also  apply  spiritually  what  is  so  necessary  in  bodily  matters  ? 
But  perhaps  in  another  respect  you  can  satisfy  my  curiosity.  I 


156  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

am  surprised  at  the  great  variety  in  the  cut  and  color  of  their 
clothes,  and  yet  I  do  not  see  all  kinds  of  color,  but  a  few  only, 
and  these  in  all  their  shades,  from  the  brightest  to  the  darkest. 
Still  I  observe,  that  in  this  there  cannot  be  meant  any  indica- 
tion of  degrees  of  either  age  or  merit ;  since  the  smallest  and 
biggest  boys  mingled  together,  may  be  alike  in  cut  and  color, 
whilst  those  who  are  alike  in  gestures  do  not  agree  with  one 
another  in  dress." 

"  As  concerns  this,  too,"  their  companion  replied,  "  I  cannot 
explain  any  further;  yet  I  shall  be  much  mistaken  if  you 
depart  hence  without  being  enlightened  about  all  that  you  may 
wish  to  know." 

They  were  now  going  in  search  of  the  master,  whom  they 
thought  that  they  had  found ;  but  now  a  stranger  could  not  but 
be  struck  by  the  fact,  that  the  deeper  they  got  into  the  country, 
the  more  they  were  met  by  a  harmonious  sound  of  singing. 
Whatsoever  the  boys  set  about,  in  whatever  work  they  were 
found  engaged,  they  were  for  ever  singing,  and  in  fact  it  seemed 
that  the  songs  were  specially  adapted  to  each  particular  occupa- 
tion, and  in  similar  cases  always  the  same.  If  several  children 
were  in  any  place,  they  would  accompany  each  other  in  turns. 
Towards  evening  they  came  upon  some  dancing,  their  steps 
being  animated  and  guided  by  choruses.  Felix  from  his  horse 
chimed  in  with  his  voice,  and,  in  truth,  not  badly ;  Wilhelm  was 
delighted  with  this  entertainment,  which  made  the  neighbor- 
hood so  lively.  "  I  suppose,"  he  observed  to  his  companion, 
"  you  devote  a  great  deal  of  care  to  this  kind  of  instruction,  for 
otherwise  this  ability  would  not  be  so  widely  diffused,  or  so 
perfectly  developed." 

"  Just  so,"  replied  the  other:  "  with  us  the  art  of  singing  forms 
the  first  step  in  education  ;  everything  else  is  subservient  to  it, 
and  attained  by  means  of  it.  With  us  the  simplest  enjoyment, 
as  well  as  the  simplest  instruction,  is  enlivened  and  impressed 
by  singing ;  and  even  what  we  teach  in  matters  of  religion  and 
morals  is  communicated  by  the  method  of  song.  Other  advan- 
tages for  independent  ends  are  directly  allied ;  for,  whilst  we 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  157 

practice  the  children  in  writing  down  by  symbols  on  the  slate 
the  notes  which  they  produce,  and  then,  according  to  the  indi- 
cation of  these  signs,  in  reproducing  them  in  their  throats,  and 
moreover  in  adding  the  text,  they  exercise  at  the  same  time  the 
hand,  ear,  and  eye,  and  attain  orthography  and  calligraphy 
quicker  than  you  would  believe;  and,  finally,  since  all  this 
must  be  practiced  and  copied  according  to  pure  meter  and 
accurately  fixed  time,  they  learn  to  understand  much  sooner 
than  in  other  ways  the  high  value  of  measure  and  computation. 
On  this  account,  of  all  imaginable  means,  we  have  chosen  music 
as  the  first  element  of  our  education,  for  from  this,  equally  easy 
roads  radiate  in  every  direction." 

Wilhelm  sought  to  inform  himself  further,  and  did  not  hide 
his  astonishment  at  hearing  no  instrumental  music. 

"  We  do  not  neglect  it,"  replied  the  other,  "  but  we  practice  it 
in  a  special  place,  inclosed  in  the  most  charming  mountain 
valley ;  and  then  again  we  take  care  that  the  different  instru- 
ments are  taught  in  places  lying  far  a'part.  Especially  are  the 
discordant  notes  of  beginners  banished  to  certain  solitary 
spots,  where  they  can  drive  no  one  crazy ;  for  you  will  yourself 
confess,  that  in  well-regulated  civil  society  scarcely  any  more 
miserable  nuisance  is  to  be  endured  than  when  the  neighbor- 
hood inflicts  upon  us  a  beginner  on  the  flute  or  on  the  violin. 
Our  beginners,  from  their  own  laudable  notion  of  wishing  to  be 
an  annoyance  to  none,  go  voluntarily  for  a  longer  or  shorter 
period  into  the  wilds,  and,  isolated  there,  vie  with  one  another 
in  attaining  the  merit  of  being  allowed  to  draw  nearer  to  the 
inhabited  world ;  on  which  account  they  are,  from  time  to  time, 
allowed  to  make  an  attempt  at  drawing  nearer,  which  seldom 
fails,  because  in  these,  as  in  our  other  modes  of  education,  we 
venture  actually  to  develop  and  encourage  a  sense  of  shame 
and  diffidence.  I  am  sincerely  glad  that  your  son  has  got  a 
good  voice ;  the  rest  will  be  effected  all  the  more  easily." 

They  had  now  reached  a  place  where  Felix  was  to  remain,  and 
make  trial  of  his  surroundings,  until  they  were  disposed  to  grant 
a  formal  admission.  They  already  heard  from  afar  a  cheerful 


158  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

singing ;  it  was  a  game,  which  the  boys  were  now  enjoying  in 
their  play  hour.  A  general  chorus  resounded,  in  which  each 
member  of  a  large  circle  joined  heartily,  clearly,  and  vigorously 
in  his  part,  obeying  the  directions  of  the  superintendent.  The 
latter,  however,  often  took  the  singers  by  surprise,  by  suspending 
with  a  signal  the  chorus  singing,  and  bidding  some  one  or  other 
single  performer,  by  a  touch  of  his  baton,  to  adapt  alone  some 
suitable  song  to  the  expiring  tune  and  the  passing  idea.  Most 
of  them  already  showed  considerable  ability ;  a  few  who  failed 
in  the  performance  willingly  paid  their  forfeit,  without  exactly 
being  made  a  laughing-stock.  Felix  was  still  child  enough  to 
mix  at  once  among  them,  and  came  tolerably  well  out  of  the 
trial.  Thereupon  the  first  style  of  greeting  was  conceded  to  him  : 
he  forthwith  folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  looked  upwards,  and 
with  such  a  droll  expression  withal,  that  it  was  quite  plain  that 
no  hidden  meaning  in  it  had  as  yet  occurred  to  him. 

The  pleasant  spot,  the  kind  reception,  the  merry  games,  all 
pleased  the  boy  so  well,  that  he  did  not  feel  particularly  sad 
when  he  saw  his  father  depart ;  he  looked  almost  more  wist- 
fully at  the  horse  as  it  was  led  away ;  yet  he  had  no  difficulty 
in  understanding,  when  he  was  informed  that  he  could  not 
keep  it  in  the  present  locality.  On  the  other  hand,  they  prom- 
ised him  that  he  should  find,  if  not  the  same,  at  all  events  an 
equally  lively  and  well-trained  one  when  he  did  not  expect  it. 

As  the  Superior  could  not  be  found,  the  overseer  said :  "  I 
must  now  leave  you,  to  pursue  my  own  avocations ;  but  still 
I  will  take  you  to  the  Three,  who  preside  over  holy  things: 
your  letter  is  also  addressed  to  them,  and  together  they  stand 
in  place  of  the  Superior." 

Wilhelm  would  have  liked  to  learn  beforehand  about  the  holy 
things,  but  the  other  replied :  "  The  Three  in  return  for  the 
confidence  with  which  you  have  left  your  son  with  us,  will 
certainly,  in  accordance  with  wisdom  and  justice,  reveal  to  you 
all  that  is  most  necessary.  The  visible  objects  of  veneration, 
which  I  have  called  holy  things,  are  included  within  a  par- 
ticular boundary,  are  not  mingled  with  anything,  or  disturbed 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  159 

by  anything ;  only  at  certain  times  of  the  year,  the  pupils,  ac- 
cording to  the  stages  of  their  education,  are  admitted  to  them, 
in  order  that  they  may  be  instructed  historically  and  through 
their  senses ;  for  in  this  way  they  carry  off  with  them  an  im- 
pression, enough  for  them  to  feed  upon  for  a  long  time  in  the 
exercise  of  their  duty." 

Wilhelm  now  stood  at  the  entrance  of  a  forest  valley,  inclosed 
by  lofty  walls ;  on  a  given  signal  a  small  door  was  opened,  and 
a  serious,  respectable-looking  man  received  our  friend.  He 
found  himself  within  a  large  and  beautifully  verdant  inclosure, 
shaded  with  trees  and  bushes  of  every  kind,  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  see  some  stately  walls  and  fine  buildings  through  the 
dense  and  lofty  natural  growth ;  his  friendly  reception  by  the 
Three,  who  came  up  by  and  by,  ultimately  concluded  in  a 
conversation,  to  which  each  contributed  something  of  his  own, 
but  the  substance  of  which  we  shall  put  together  in  brief. 

"  Since  you  have  intrusted  your  son  to  us,"  they  said,  "  it  is 
our  duty  to  let  you  see  more  deeply  into  our  methods  of  pro- 
ceeding. You  have  seen  many  external  things,  that  do  not 
carry  their  significance  with  them  all  at  once ;  which  of  these 
do  you  most  wish  to  have  explained  ?  " 

"  I  have  remarked  certain  seemly  yet  strange  gestures  and 
obeisances,  the  significance  of  which  I  should  like  to  learn; 
with  you  no  doubt  what  is  external  has  reference  to  what  is 
within,  and  vice  versa  ;  let  me  understand  this  relation." 

"  Well-bred  and  healthy  children  possess  a  great  deal ;  Nature 
has  given  to  each  everything  that  he  needs  for  time  and  con- 
tinuance :  our  duty  is  to  develop  this ;  often  it  is  better  de- 
veloped by  itself.  But  one  thing  no  one  brings  into  the  world, 
and  yet  it  is  that  upon  which  depends  everything  through 
which  a  man  becomes  a  man  on  every  side.  If  you  can  find 
it  out  yourself,  speak  out." 

Wilhelm  bethought  himself  for  a  short  time,  and  then  shook 
his  head.  After  a  suitable  pause,  they  exclaimed :  "  Venera- 
tion ! " 

Wilhelm  was  startled. 


1GO  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

"  Veneration,"  they  repeated.  "  It  is  wanting  in  all,  and  per- 
haps in  yourself.  You  have  seen  three  kinds  of  gestures,  and 
we  teach  a  threefold  veneration,  which  when  combined  to  form 
a  whole,  only  then  attains  to  its  highest  power  and  effect.  The 
first  is  veneration  for  that  which  is  above  us.  That  gesture, 
the  arms  folded  on  the  breast,  a  cheerful  glance  towards  the 
sky,  that  is  precisely  what  we  prescribe  to  our  untutored  chil- 
dren, at  the  same  time  requiring  witness  of  them  that  there  is 
a  God  up  above,  who  reflects  and  reveals  Himself  in  our  parents, 
tutors,  and  superiors.  The  second,  veneration  for  that  which  is 
below  us.  The  hands  folded  on  the  back  as  if  tied  together, 
the  lowered,  smiling  glance,  bespeak  that  we  have  to  regard 
the  earth  well  and  cheerfully;  it  gives  us  an  opportunity  to 
maintain  ourselves  ;  it  affords  unspeakable  joys ;  but  it  brings 
disproportionate  sufferings.  If  one  hurts  oneself  bodily,  whether 
faultily  or  innocently  ;  if  others  hurt  one,  intentionally  or  acci- 
dentally; if  earthly  chance  does  one  any  harm,  let  that  be  well 
thought  of,  for  such  danger  accompanies  us  all  our  life  long. 
But  from  this  condition  we  deliver  our  pupil  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, directly  we  are  convinced  that  the  teachings  of  this  stage 
have  made  a  sufficient  impression  upon  him ;  but  then  we  bid 
him  be  a  man,  look  to  his  companions,  and  guide  himself  with 
reference  to  them.  Now  he  stands  erect  and  bold,  yet  not  self- 
ishly isolated ;  only  in  a  union  with  his  equals  does  he  present 
a  front  towards  the  world.  We  are  unable  to  add  anything 
further." 

"  I  see  it  all,"  replied  Wilhelm ;  "  it  is  probably  on  this  ac- 
count that  the  multitude  is  so  inured  to  vice,  because  it  only 
takes  pleasure  in  the  element  of  ill-will  and  evil  speech ;  he  who 
indulges  in  this  soon  becomes  indifferent  to  God,  contemptuous 
towards  the  world,  and  a  hater  of  his  fellows;  but  the  true, 
genuine,  indispensable  feeling  of  self-respect  is  ruined  in  conceit 
and  presumption." 

"  Allow  me,  nevertheless,"  Wilhelm  went  on,  "  to  make  one 
objection :  has  it  not  ever  been  held  that  the  fear  evinced  by 
savage  nations  in  the  presence  of  mighty  natural  phenomena, 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRE  161 

and  other  inexplicable  foreboding  events,  is  the  germ  from 
which  a  higher  feeling,  a  purer  disposition,  should  gradually  be 
developed  ?  " 

To  this  the  others  replied :  "  Fear,  no  doubt,  is  consonant  with 
nature,  but  not  reverence ;  people  fear  a  known  or  unknown 
powerful  being:  the  strong  one  tries  to  grapple  with  it,  the 
weak  to  avoid  it ;  both  wish  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  feel  happy 
when  in  a  short  space  they  have  conquered  it,  when  their 
nature  in  some  measure  has  regained  its  freedom  and  indepen- 
dence. The  natural  man  repeats  this  operation  a  million  times 
during  his  life ;  from  fear  he  strives  after  liberty,  from  liberty 
he  is  driven  back  into  fear,  and  does  not  advance  one  step 
further.  To  fear  is  easy,  but  unpleasant ;  to  entertain  reverence 
is  difficult,  but  pleasing.  Man  determines  himself  unwillingly  to 
reverence,  or  rather  never  determines  himself  to  it ;  it  is  a  loftier 
sense  which  must  be  imparted  to  his  nature,  and  which  is  self- 
developed  only  in  the  most  exceptionally  gifted  ones,  whom 
therefore  from  all  time  we  have  regarded  as  saints,  as  gods. 
In  this  consists  the  dignity,  in  this  the  function  of  all  genuine 
religions,  of  which  also  there  exist  only  three,  according  to  the 
objects  towards  which  they  direct  their  worship." 

The  men  paused,  Wilhelm  remained  silent  for  a  while-  in 
thought ;  as  he  did  not  feel  himself  equal  to  pointing  these 
strange  words,  he  begged  the  worthy  men  to  continue  their 
remarks,  which  too  they  at  once  consented  to  do. 

"  No  religion,"  they  said,  "  which  is  based  on  fear  is  esteemed 
among  us.  With  the  reverence  which  a  man  allows  himself 
to  entertain,  whilst  he  accords  honor,  he  may  preserve  his  own 
honor ;  he  is  not  at  discord  with  himself,  as  in  the  other  case. 
The  religion  which  rests  on  reverence  for  that  which  is  above 
us  we  call  the  ethnical  one ;  it  is  the  religion  of  nations,  and 
the  first  happy  redemption  from  a  base  fear;  all  so-called 
heathen  religions  are  of  this  kind,  let  them  have  what  names 
they  will.  The  second  religion,  which  is  founded  on  that  rever- 
ence which  we  have  for  what  is  like  ourselves,  we  call  the  phil- 
osophic ;  for  the  philosopher,  who  places  himself  in  the  middle, 

*     W— 11 


162  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

must  draw  downward  to  himself  all  that  is  higher,  and  upward 
to  himself  all  that  is  lower,  and  only  in  this  central  position 
does  he  deserve  the  name  of  the  sage.  Now,  whilst  he  pene- 
trates his  relations  to  his  fellows,  and  therefore  to  the  whole  of 
humanity,  and  his  relations  to  all  other  earthly  surroundings, 
necessary  or  accidental,  in  the  cosmical  sense  he  only  lives  in 
the  truth.  But  we  must  now  speak  of  the  third  religion,  based 
on  reverence  for  that  which  is  below  us ;  we  call  it  the  Christian 
one,  because  this  disposition  of  mind  is  chiefly  revealed  in  it ; 
it  is  the  last  one  which  humanity  could  and  was  bound  to 
attain.  Yet  what  was  not  demanded  for  it  ?  not  merely  to  leave 
earth  below,  and  claim  a  higher  origin,  but  to  recognize  as 
divine  even  humility  and  poverty,  scorn  and  contempt,  shame 
and  misery,  suffering  and  death ;  nay,  to  revere  and  make  lov- 
able even  sin  and  crime,  not  as  hindrances  but  as  furtherances 
of  holiness !  Of  this  there  are  indeed  found  traces  throughout 
all  time ;  but  a  track  is  not  a  goal,  and  this  having  once  been 
reached,  humanity  cannot  turn  backwards;  and  it  may  be 
maintained  that  the  Christian  religion,  having  once  appeared, 
can  never  disappear  again ;  having  once  been  divinely  em- 
bodied, cannot  again  be  dissolved." 

"•Which  of  these  religions  do  you  then  profess  more  particu- 
larly ?"  said  Wilhelm. 

"  All  three,"  answered  the  others,  "  for,  in  point  of  fact,  they 
together  present  the  true  religion ;  from  these  three  reverences 
outsprings  the  highest  reverence,  reverence  for  oneself,  and  the 
former  again  develop  themselves  from  the  latter,  so  that  man 
attains  to  the  highest  he  is  capable  of  reaching,  in  order  that 
he  may  consider  himself  the  best  that  God  and  nature  have 
produced ;  nay,  that  he  may  be  able  to  remain  on  this  height 
without  being  drawn  through  conceit  or  egoism  into  what  is 
base." 

"  Such  a  profession  of  faith,  developed  in  such  a  manner, 
does  not  estrange  me,"  replied  Wilhelm ;  "  it  agrees  with  all 
that  one  learns  here  and  there  in  life,  only  that  the  very  thing 
unites  you  that  severs  the  others." 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  163 

To  this  the  others  replied:  "This  confession  is  already  adhered 
to  by  a  large  part  of  the  world,  though  unconsciously." 

"  How  so,  and  where  ?  "  asked  Wilhelm. 

"  In  the  Creed  !  "  exclaimed  the  others,  loudly ;  "  for  the  first 
article  is  ethnical,  and  belongs  to  all  nations:  the  second  is 
Christian,  for  those  struggling  against  sufferings  and  glorified 
in  sufferings  ;  the  third  finally  teaches  a  spiritual  communion 
of  saints,  to  wit,  of  those  in  the  highest  degree  good  and  wise  : 
ought  not  therefore  in  fairness  the  three  divine  Persons,  under 
whose  likeness  and  name  such  convictions  and  promises  are 
uttered,  to  pass  also  for  the  highest  Unity  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  the  other,  "  for  having  so  clearly  and 
coherently  explained  this  to  me — to  whom,  as  a  full-grown  man, 
the  three  dispositions  of  mind  are  not  new ;  and  when  I  recall 
that  you  teach  the  children  these  high  truths,  first  through 
material  symbols,  then  through  a  certain  symbolic  analogy, 
and  finally  develop  in  them  the  highest  interpretation,  I  must 
needs  highly  approve  of  it." 

"  Exactly  so,"  replied  the  former ;  "  but  now  you  must  still 
learn  something  more,  in  order  that  you  may  be  convinced  that 
your  son  is  in  the  best  hands.  However,  let  this  matter  rest 
for  the  morning  hours ;  rest  and  refresh  yourself,  so  that,  con- 
tented and  humanly  complete,  you  may  accompany  us  farther 
into  the  interior  to-morrow." 

Led  by  the  hand  of  the  eldest,  our  friend  now  entered  through 
a  handsome  portal  into  a  room,  or  rather,  eight-sided  hall,  which 
was  so  richly  adorned  with  pictures,  that  it  caused  astonish- 
ment to  the  visitor.  He  easily  understood  that  all  that  he  saw 
must  have  an  important  meaning,  though  he  himself  was  not 
at  once  able  to  guess  it.  He  was  just  on  the  point  of  asking  his 
conductor  about  it,  when  the  latter  invited  him  to  enter  a  side 
gallery,  which,  open  on  one  side,  surrounded  a  spacious,  richly 
planted  flower-garden.  The  wall,  however,  attracted  the  eye 
more  than  this  brilliant  adornment  of  nature,  for  it  was  painted 
throughout  its  whole  length,  and  the  visitor  could  not  walk  far 


164  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

along  it  without  remarking  that  the  sacred  books  of  the  Israel- 
ites had  furnished  the  subjects  of  these  pictures. 

"  It  is  here,"  said  the  eldest,  "  that  we  teach  that  religion 
which,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  I  have  called  the  ethnical.  Its 
internal  substance  is  found  in  the  history  of  the  world,  as  its 
external  envelope  in  the  events  themselves.  In  the  reoccur- 
rence of  the  destinies  of  entire  nations  it  is,  properly  speaking, 
grasped." 

"You  have,  I  see,"  said  Wilhelm,  "conferred  the  honor  on 
the  Israelitish  people,  and  made  its  history  the  foundation  of 
this  exposition,  or  rather  you  have  made  it  the  principal  sub- 
ject of  the  same." 

"  Just  as  you  see,"  rejoined  the  old  man, "  for  you  will  observe 
that  in  the  plinths  and  friezes  are  represented  not  so  much 
synchronistic  as  synchronistic  actions  and  events,  whilst  among 
all  nations  there  occur  traditions  of  similar  and  equal  import. 
Thus,  while  in  the  principal  field,  Abraham  is  visited  by  his 
gods  in  the  form  of  handsome  youths,  you  see  up  there  in  the 
frieze,  Apollo  among  the  shepherds  of  AdmetUs ;  from  which 
we  may  learn  that  when  the  gods  appear  to  men,  they  mostly 
go  about  unrecognized  among  them." 

The  two  observers  went  farther.  Wilhelm  found  for  the  most 
part  well-known  subjects,  yet  represented  in  a  more  lively  and 
significant  manner  than  he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  them 
before.  In  reference  to  a  few  matters  he  asked  for  some  explana- 
tion, in  doing  which  he  could  not  refrain  from  inquiring  again, 
why  they  had  selected  the  Israelitish  history  before  all  others  ? 

Hereupon  the  eldest  answered :  "  Among  all  heathen  relig- 
ions .  .  .  this  one  has  great  advantages,  of  which  I  shall 
mention  only  a  few.  Before  the  ethnic  tribunal,  before  the 
tribunal  of  the  God  of  nations,  it  is  not  the  question,  whether 
it  is  the  best  or  the  most  excellent  nation,  but  only  whether  it 
still  exists,  whether  it  has  maintained  itself.  The  Israelitish 
nation  has  never  been  worth  much,  as  its  leaders,  judges,  rulers, 
and  prophets  have  a  thousand  times  thrown  in  its  teeth;  it 
possesses  few  virtues,  and  most  of  the  faults  of  other  nations ; 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRF  165 

but  in  independence,  endurance,  courage,  and  if  all  that  were 
no  longer  of  account,  in  toughness,  it  cannot  find  its  equal.  It 
is  the  most  tenacious  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth!  It  is,  it 
has  been,  and  will  be  to  glorify  the  name  of  Jehovah  through 
all  time.  We  have,  therefore,  set  it  up  as  a  pattern,  as  a  mas- 
terpiece, to  which  the  others  only  serve  as  a  frame." 

"  It  is  not  becoming  in  me  to  argue  with  you,"  replied  Wil- 
helm,  "  since  you  are  in  a  position  to  teach  me.  Proceed,  there- 
fore, to  explain  to  me  the  other  advantages  of  this  nation,  or 
rather  of  its  history,  of  its  religion." 

"  One  principal  advantage,"  answered  the  other,  "  consists  in 
the  excellent  collection  of  its  sacred  books.  They  are  combined 
so  happily,  that  from  the  most  heterogeneous  elements  there 
results  a  deceptive  unity.  They  are  complete  enough  to  satisfy, 
fragmentary  enough  to  stimulate  interest ;  sufficiently  barbaric 
to  excite  challenge,  sufficiently  tender  to  soothe;  and  how  many 
other  opposing  qualities  might  we  extol  in  these  books,  in  this 
Book!" 

The  series  of  the  principal  pictures,  as  well  as  the  connection 
of  the  smaller  ones  which  accompanied  them  above  and  below, 
gave  the  guest  so  much  to  think  of,  that  he  scarcely  listened  to 
the  explanatory  remarks  by  which  his  companion  seemed 
rather  to  divert  his  attention  from,  than  to  fix  it  on  the  sub- 
jects. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  other  took  occasion  to  say :  "  I  must 
here  mention  one  advantage  of  the  Israelitish  religion :  that  it 
does  not  embody  its  God  in  any  given  form,  and  therefore  leaves 
us  at  liberty  to  give  him  a  worthy  human  figure;  also,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  depict  base  idolatry  by  the  forms  of  beasts  and 
monsters." 

Our  friend,  moreover,  in  a  short  stroll  through  these  halls, 
had  again  called  to  mind  the  history  of  the  world:  there  was 
something  new  to  him  in  regard  to  the  circumstance.  Thus, 
through  the  juxtaposition  of  the  pictures,  through  the  reflec- 
tions of  his  companion,  fresh  ideas  had  dawned  upon  his  mind  ; 
an<?  he  was  glad  that  Felix  by  means  of  a  visible  representa- 


166  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

tion  of  such  merit  should  appropriate  to  himself  for  his  whole 
life  long,  as  vividly  as  if  they  had  actually  happened  in  his 
own  time,  those  grand,  significant,  and  inimitable  events.  He 
looked  at  these  pictures  at  last  only  with  the  eyes  of  the  child, 
and  in  this  aspect  he  felt  perfectly  satisfied  with  them.  And 
so  strolling  on  they  reached  those  sad,  confused  periods,  and 
finally  the  destruction  of  the  city  and  the  temple,  the  murder, 
banishment  and  slavery  of  whole  multitudes  of  this  obstinate 
nation.  Its  subsequent  destinies  were  represented  by  discreet 
allegory,  since  a  historic  and  real  representation  of  them  lies 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  noble  art. 

Here  the  gallery,  through  which  they  had  walked,  termi- 
nated abruptly,  and  Wilhelm  wondered  at  finding  himself 
already  at  the  end. 

"  I  find,"  he  said  to  his  guide,  "  an  omission  in  this  historical 
walk.  You  have  destroyed  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  and  scat- 
tered the  nation,  without  introducing  the  Divine  Man,  who 
shortly  before  that  very  time  taught  in  it,  and  to  whom,  too, 
shortly  before  they  would  give  no  hearing." 

"  To  do  this,  as  you  demand,  would  have  been  a  mistake. 
The  life  of  that  Divine  Man,  to  whom  you  allude,  stands  in  no 
connection  with  the  world  history  of  his  time.  His  was  a  pri- 
vate life,  his  doctrine  a  doctrine  for  individuals.  What  pub- 
licly concerns  the  masses  of  the  people  and  its  members  belongs 
to  the  history  of  the  world,  to  the  religion  of  the  world,  which 
we  regard  as  the  first.  What  inwardly  concerns  the  individual 
belongs  to  the  second  religion,  to  the  religion  of  the  wise  ;  such 
was  the  one  that  Christ  taught  and  practiced  as  long  as  he 
went  about  on  earth.  Wherefore  the  external  ends  here,  and 
I  now  open  to  you  the  internal." 

A  door  opened,  and  they  entered  a  similar  gallery,  where 
AVilhelm  at  once  recognized  the  pictures  of  the  second  holy 
writings.  They  seemed  to  be  by  a  different  hand  from  the 
first ;  everything  was  gentler,  forms,  movements,  surroundings, 
light,  and  coloring. 

"  You  see  here,"  said  his  companion,  after  they  had  walked 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  167 

past  a  part  of  the  pictures,  "  neither  deeds  nor  events,  but 
miracles  and  parables.  Here  is  a  new  world ;  a  new  exterior, 
different  from  the  former,  and  an  interior,  which  in  that  is 
entirely  lacking.  By  miracles  and  parables  a  new  world  is 
opened.  The  former  make  the  common  extraordinary,  the  lat- 
ter make  the  extraordinary  common." 

"  Have  the  kindness,"  replied  Wilhelm,  "  to  explain  me  these 
few  words  more  circumstantially,  for  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  doing 
it  myself." 

"  You  possess  a  natural  mind,"  replied  the  other,  "  although 
a  deep  one.  Examples  will  open  it  most  readily.  Nothing  is 
more  common  or  ordinary  than  eating  and  drinking;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  extraordinary  to  ennoble  a  beverage,  or  to 
multiply  a  meal,  so  that  it  may  suffice  for  a  countless  num- 
ber. Nothing  is  commoner  than  illness  and  bodily  infirmity ; 
but  to  cure,  to  alleviate  these  by  spiritual  or  spiritual-seeming 
means,  is  extraordinary:  and  just  in  this  consists  the  marvel  of 
the  miracle — that  the  common  and  extraordinary,  the  possible 
and  the  impossible,  become  one.  In  the  similitude,  in  the  par- 
able, the  reverse  is  the  case ;  here  you  have  mind,  insight,  the 
idea  of  the  sublime,  the  extraordinary,  the  unattainable.  When 
this  is  embodied  in  a  common,  ordinary,  intelligible  image,  so 
that  it  confronts  us  as  living,  present  and  real,  so  that  we  can 
appropriate,  seize,  retain,  and  converse  with  it  as  with  one  of 
our  own  like  ;  that  indeed  becomes  a  second  species  of  miracle, 
which  is  fairly  associated  with  the  first  kind,  nay,  perhaps,  is  to 
be  preferred  to  it.  Here  the  living  doctrine  itself  is  pronounced, 
the  doctrine  that  arouses  no  dispute.  It  is  no  opinion  as  to 
what  is  right  or  wrong;  it  is  indisputably  right  or  wrong 
itself." 

This  part  of  the  gallery  was  shorter,  or  rather  it  was  only  the 
fourth  part  of  the  inclosure  of  the  inner  court-yard.  But  while 
one  cared  only  to  pass  along  the  first,  here  one  was  glad  to 
linger,  here  one  liked  to  walk  to  and  fro.  The  subjects  were 
not  so  striking  nor  so  manifold,  but  so  much  the  more  did  they 
invite  inquiry  into  their  deep  and  quiet  meaning;  moreover 


168  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

the  two  wanderers  turned  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  whilst 
Wilhelm  expressed  a  fear  that  in  fact  only  the  last  supper,  the 
last  parting  of  the  Master  from  his  disciples,  was  reached.  He 
asked  for  the  remaining  part  of  the  story. 

"  In  all  teaching,"  replied  the  elder  one,  "  in  all  tradition,  we 
are  very  willing  to  set  apart  only  what  it  is  possible  to  set 
apart,  for  only  thereby  can  the  notion  of  what  is  significant  be 
developed  in  youth.  Life  otherwise  mingles  and  mixes  every- 
thing together ;  and  thus  we  have  here  the  life  of  that  excellent 
Man  completely  separated  from  its  end.  During  life  he  appears 
as  a  true  philosopher — do  not  be  scandalized  at  this  expression 
— as  a  sage  in  the  highest  sense.  He  stands  firmly  to  his  point; 
he  pursues  his  own  path  unflinchingly,  and  whilst  he  draws  up 
to  himself  what  is  inferior,  whilst  he  allows  the  ignorant,  the 
poor,  the  sick,  a  share  in  his  wisdom,  wealth,  and  power,  and 
thereby  seems  to  step  down  to  their  level ;  still,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  does  not  deny  his  divine  origin;  he  dares  to  make 
himself  equal  to  God,  nay,  to  declare  himself  God.  In  this 
manner,  from  his  youth  up,  he  astonishes  those  who  surround 
him,  gains  one  part  of  them  over  to  himself,  arouses  the  other 
against  himself,  and  shows  all  those  to  whom  it  is  a  question 
of  a  certain  sublimity  in  doctrine  and  life,  What  they  will  have 
to  expect  from  the  world.  And  thus  his  life's  journey  for  the 
noble  part  of  humanity  is  more  instructive  and  fruitful  than 
his  death ;  for  to  the  one  test  every  one  is  called,  but  to  the 
other  only  a  few.  And  in  order  that  we  may  pass  over  all  that 
follows  from  this,  only  look  at  the  touching  scene  of  the  last 
supper !  Here  the  sage,  as  always  happens,  leaves  his  followers 
behind,  quite  orphaned,  so  to  say,  and  whilst  he  is  taking 
thought  for  the  good  ones,  he  is  at  the  same  time  feeding  with 
them  a  traitor,  who  will  bring  him  and  the  better  ones  to  de- 
struction." 

With  these  words  the  elder  opened  a  door,  and  Wilhelm  was 
astonished  to  find  himself  again  in  the  first  hall  of  entrance. 
In  the  meantime,  they  had  made,  as  he  could  easily  see,  the 
entire  circuit  of  the  court-yard. 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S   WANDERJAHRE  169 

"  I  was  hoping,"  said  Wilhelm,  "  that  you  would  conduct  me 
to  the  end,  whilst  you  are  taking  me  back  to  the  beginning." 

"  This  time  I  can  show  you  nothing  more,"  said  the  elder ;  "  we 
do  not  let  our  pupils  see  more,  we  do  not  explain  to  them  more 
than  what  you  have  so  far  passed  through;  the  external  and 
generally  mundane  may  be  imparted  to  each  from  his  youth 
up ;  the  internal  and  specially  spiritual  and  mental,  only  to 
those  who  are  growing  up  to  a  certain  degree  of  thoughtfulness ; 
and  the  rest,  which  can  be  disclosed  only  once  a  year,  only  to 
those  of  whom  we  are  taking  leave.  That  last  form  of  religion, 
which  arises  from  respect  for  what  is  below  us,  that  reverence 
for  what  is  repugnant,  hateful,  and  apt  to  be  shunned,  we  im- 
part to  each  only  by  way  of  outfit  for  the  world,  in  order  that 
he  may  know  where  he  can  find  the  like,  if  need  of  such  should 
stir  within  him.  I  invite  you  to  return  after  the  lapse  of  a 
year  to  attend  our  general  festival,  and  to  see  how  far  your  son 
has  progressed ;  at  which  time  too  you  shall  be  initiated  into 
the  holy  estate  of  sorrow." 

Wilhelm  lingered,  looking  over  the  pictures  in  the  vestibule, 
wishing  to  have  their  meaning  explained. 

"  This  too,"  said  the  elder,  "  we  shall  continue  to  owe  you 
until  the  year  is  over.  We  do  not  admit  any  strangers  to  the 
instruction  which  we  impart  to  the  children  during  the  inter- 
val ;  but  in  due  time  come  and  listen  to  what  our  best  speakers 
think  fit  to  say  publicly  on  these  subjects." 

Soon  after  this  conversation  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  small 
door.  The  inspector  of  yesterday  presented  himself;  he  had 
led  up  Wilhelm's  horse.  And  thus  our  friend  took  leave  of  the 
Three,  who  at  parting  recommended  him  to  the  inspector  in 
the  following  terms:  "He  is  now  numbered  among  the  con- 
fidants, and  what  you  have  to  answer  to  his  questions  is  known 
to  you ;  for  he  surely  still  wishes  to  be  enlightened  about  many 
things  that  he  has  seen  and  heard  with  us ;  the  measure  and 
purport  are  not  unknown  to  you."  Wilhelm  had  still  in  fact 
a  few  questions  on  his  mind,  which  also  he  expressed  forth- 


170  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

with.  Wherever  they  rode  by,  the  children  ranged  themselves 
as  on  the  day  before ;  but  to-day  he  saw,  although  rarely,  a  bo}' 
here  and  there  who  did  not  salute  the  inspector  as  he  rode 
past,  did  not  look  up  from  his  work,  and  allowed  him  to  pass 
by  without  notice.  Wilhelm  now  inquired  the  cause  of  this, 
and  what  this  exception  meant. 

The  other  replied  thereto :  "  It  is  in  fact  exceedingly  signifi- 
cant, for  it  is  the  severest  punishment  that  we  inflict  upon  our 
pupils ;  they  are  declared  unworthy  of  showing  reverence,  and 
compelled  to  seem  rude  and  uncultured ;  but  they  do  all  that 
is  possible  to  rescue  themselves  from  this  position,  and  apply 
themselves  as  quickly  as  possible  to  every  duty.  Should,  how- 
ever, any  hardened  youngster  show  no  readiness  to  recant,  then 
he  is  sent  back  to  his  parents  with  a  short  but  conclusive  report. 
He  who  does  not  learn  to  adapt  himself  to  the  laws  must  leave 
the  region  where  they  prevail." 

Another  sight  excited  to-day  as  yesterday  the  curiosity  of  the 
traveller ;  it  was  the  variety  of  color  and  shape  in  the  clothes 
of  the  pupils.  In  this  there  seemed  to  prevail  no  graduated 
arrangement,  for  some  who  saluted  differently  were  dressed  in 
uniform  style,  whilst  those  who  had  the  same  way  of  greeting 
were  clad  differently.  Wilhelm  asked  for -the  cause  of  this 
seeming  contradiction. 

"  It  is  explained  thus,"  replied  the  other ;  "  namely,  that  it  is 
a  means  of  finding  out  the  peculiar  disposition  of  each  boy. 
With  strictness  and  method  in  other  things,  in  this  respect  we 
allow  a  certain  degree  of  freedom  to  prevail.  Within  the  scope 
of  our  stores  of  cloths  and  trimmings,  the  pupils  are  allowed  to 
choose  any  favorite  color,  and  also  within  moderate  limits  to 
select  both  shape  and  cut ;  this  we  scrupulously  observe,  for  by 
the  color  you  may  find  out  people's  bent  of  mind,  and  by  the 
cut,  the  style  of  life.  Yet  there  is  one  special  peculiarity  of 
human  nature  which  makes  a  more  accurate  judgment  to  some 
extent  difficult ;  this  is  the  spirit  of  imitation — the  tendency  to 
associate.  It  is  very  seldom  that  a  pupil  lights  on  anything 
that  has  not  occurred  before;  for  the  most  part  they  choose 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  171 

something  familiar,  what  they  see  just  before  them.  Still,  this 
consideration  does  not  remain  unprofitable  to  us ;  by  means  of 
such  external  signs  they  ally  themselves  to  this  or  that  party, 
join  in  here  or  there,  and  thus  more  general  dispositions  distin- 
guish themselves ;  we  learn  to  where  each  inclines  and  to  what 
example  he  assimilates  himself.  Now,  cases  have  been  seen,  in 
which  the  dispositions  inclined  towards  the  general,  in  which 
one  fashion  would  extend  itself  to  all,  and  every  peculiarity 
tend  towards  losing  itself  in  the  totality.  In  a  gentle  way  we 
try  to  put  a  stop  to  a  tendency  of  this  kind ;  we  allow  our  stores 
to  run  short ;  one  or  other  kind  of  stuff  or  ornament  is  no  more 
to  be  had.  We  substitute  something  new,  something  attrac- 
tive ;  through  light  colors,  and  short  close  cut  we  attract  the 
cheerful  ones ;  by  somber  shades  and  comfortable,  ample  suits, 
the  thoughtful  ones,  and  thus  gradually  establish  a  balance. 
For  we  are  altogether  opposed  to  uniform ;  it  hides  the  charac- 
ter, and,  more  than  any  other  disguise,  conceals  the  peculiarities 
of  the  children  from  the  sight  of  their  superiors." 

With  such  and  other  conversation  Wilhelm  arrived  at  the 
frontier  of  the  district,  and  precisely  at  the  point  where  the 
traveller,  according  to  his  old  friend's  direction,  ought  to  leave 
it,  in  order  to  pursue  his  own  private  ends. 

On  parting,  the  inspector  first  of  all  observed  that  Wilhelm 
might  now  wait  until  the  grand  festival  for  all  their  sympa- 
thizers in  various  ways  was  announced.  To  this  all  the  parents 
would  be  invited,  and  able  pupils  be  dismissed  to  the  chances 
of  free  life.  After  that,  he  was  informed,  he  might  at  his  leisure 
enter  the  other  districts,  where,  in  accordance  with  peculiar 
principles,  special  instruction  amidst  the  most  perfect  surround- 
ings was  imparted  and  practiced. 

If  we  now  seek  out  our  friend  again — for  some  time  left  to 
his  own  resources — we  shall  find  him  as  he  comes  hither  from 
the  side  of  the  level  country  into  the  Pedagogic  Province.  He 
comes  across  pastures  and  meadows,  skirts  on  the  dry  down 
many  a  small  lake,  looks  on  bushy  rather  than  wooded  hills ; 


172  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

on  all  sides  a  free  prospect  over  a  land  but  little  tilled.  On 
such  tracks  it  did  not  long  remain  doubtful  that  he  was  in  the 
horse-breeding  district,  and  he  noticed  here  and  there  smaller 
and  larger  herds  of  these  noble  beasts  of  different  sex  and  age. 
But  all  at  once  the  horizon  is  covered  with  a  fearful  dust-cloud, 
which,  rapidly  looming  nearer  and  nearer,  completely  conceals 
the  whole  breadth  of  the  space,  but  at  last,  parted  by  a  keen 
side-wind,  is  forced  to  disclose  the  tumult  inside  it. 

A  large  body  of  the  said  noble  beasts  rushes  forward  in  full 
gallop ;  the}r  are  guided  and  kept  together  by  keepers  on  horse- 
back. The  tremendous  hurly-burly  rushes  past  the  traveller ; 
a  fine  boy,  amongst  the  keepers  in  charge,  looks  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment, pulls  up,  jumps  off,  and  embraces  his  father. 

Now  questioning  and  explanation  ensue.  The  son  relates 
that  he  had  had  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal  during  the  first 
probation  time ;  dispensing  with  his  horse  and  going  about  on 
foot  over  ploughed  lands  and  meadows,  and,  as  he  had  declared 
beforehand,  had  not  shown  himself  to  advantage  in  the  quiet 
toilsome  country  life.  The  harvest-feast  had  pleased  him  well 
enough  ;  but  the  tillage  afterwards,  the  ploughing,  digging,  and 
waiting,  not  at  all.  He  had  certainly  occupied  himself  with 
the  necessary  and  useful  domestic  animals,  but  always  lazily 
and  discontentedly  until  he  was  at  last  promoted  to  the  more 
lively  business  of  riding.  The  occupation  of  looking  after  the 
mares  and  foals  was  tedious  enough ;  meanwhile  if  one  sees 
before  one  a  lively  little  beast,  that  in  three  or  four  years'  time 
will  perhaps  carry  one  about,  it  is  quite  a  different  sort  of  thing 
from  troubling  oneself  about  calves  and  sucking  pigs,  of  which 
the  end  and  aim  is  to  be  well  fed  and  fattened,  and  then  sold. 

With  the  growth  of  his  boy,  who  was  now  really  reaching 
youth's  estate,  with  his  healthy  condition,  and  a  certain  merry 
freedom,  not  to  say  cleverness,  in  his  talk,  his  father  had  good 
reason  to  be  content.  The  two  now  proceeded  to  follow  quickly 
on  horseback  the  speeding  convoy,  past  remote-lying  and  ex- 
tensive farms  to  the  village  or  country  town  where  the  great 
market  was  held.  There  incredible  confusion  was  in  full  career, 


WILHELM  MEISTER  '£    WANDERJAHRE  173 

and  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  whether  the  wares  or  the 
merchants  raised  the  more  dust.  From  all  countries  would-be 
purchasers  here  meet  together  in  order  to  acquire  animals  of 
fine  breed  and  careful  rearing ;  and  one  might  think  that  one 
heard  all  the  tongues  of  the  earth.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  too, 
sounds  the  lively  music  of  the  most  powerful  wind  instruments, 
and  everything  indicates  movement,  vigor,  and  life. 

Our  traveller  now  again  meets  the  overseer  already  known  to 
him  of  old,  and  falls  in  company  with  other  clever  men,  who 
manage  quietly  and  no  less  unnoticeably  to  maintain  discipline 
and  order.  Wilhelm  believing  that  here  again  he  sees  an  in- 
stance of  exclusive  occupation,  and  in  spite  of  its  seeming 
breadth  of  a  narrow  course  of  life,  is  anxious  to  ascertain  by 
what  other  means  they  are  accustomed  to  train  the  pupils,  in 
order  to  prevent  the  youth — in  such  a  wild,  and  in  some  degree 
savage,  occupation  of  rearing  and  training  beasts — from  becom- 
ing a  wild  beast  himself.  And  thus  it  was  very  gratifying  to 
him  to  learn  that  with  this  same  violent  and  rough-seeming 
vocation  was  united  the  most  delicate  in  the  world,  the  practice 
and  the  learning  of  languages. 

At  this  moment  the  father  missed  his  son  from  his  side  ;  he 
saw  him  through  the  interstices  of  the  crowd  eagerly  bargain- 
ing and  arguing  with  a  young  peddler  over  some  trifles.  In  a 
short  time  he  altogether  lost  him.  On  the  overseer's  inquiring 
the  reason  of  a  certain  embarrassment  and  abstraction,  and 
hearing  in  reply  that  it  was  on  his  son's  account,  "  Never  mind 
that,"  he  said,  to  reassure  the  father,  "  he  is  not  lost.  But  to 
show  you  how  we  keep  our  charges  together—  •"  and  there- 
upon he  blew  shrilly  on  a  whistle  that  hung  at  his  breast.  In 
a  moment  it  was  answered  by  dozens  from  all  sides.  The  man 
went  on :  "I  will  let  this  serve  for  the  present,  it  is  only  a  signal 
that  the  overseer  is  in  the  neighborhood  and  happens  to  want 
to  know  how  many  hear  him.  On  a  second  signal  they  keep 
quiet,  but  make  themselves  ready ;  on  the  third  they  answer 
and  come  rushing  up.  Moreover,  these  signals  are  multiplied 
in  very  many  ways  and  for  special  uses."  A  more  open  space 


174  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

had  suddenly  cleared  itself  round  about  them ;  they  were  able 
to  speak  more  freely  whilst  walking  towards  the  adjoining 
heights. 

"  We  were  led  to  this  practice  of  languages,"  proceeded  the 
overseer,  "  by  the  fact  that  we  find  here  youths  from  all  parts 
of  the  world.  Now  it  is  to  prevent  the  people  of  one  country 
from  clanning  together,  as  usually  happens  abroad,  and  form- 
ing parties  asunder  from  the  other  nations,  that  we  try  by  free 
communion  of  speech  to  bring  them  nearer  to  one  another. 
But  a  universal  knowledge  of  language  is  most  necessary,  in- 
asmuch as  at  this  fair  every  foreigner  is  glad  to  find  a  sufficient 
means  of  intercourse  in  his  own  sounds  and  expressions,  and  at 
the  same  time  all  possible  convenience  in  bargaining  and  deal- 
ing. Yet  in  order  that  no  Babylonish  confusion,  no  corruption 
of  speech  shall  ensue,  one  language  only  is  spoken  in  common, 
month  by  month  throughout  the  year,  in  accordance  with  the 
principle  that  one  should  learn  nothing  that  has  to  be  made 
compulsory  except  the  rudiments. 

"  We  look  upon  our  scholars,"  said  the  overseer,  "  as  so  many 
swimmers,  who  in  the  element  that  threatens  to  swallow  them 
feel  themselves  with  wonder  to  be  lighter,  and  are  borne  up 
and  carried  forward  by  it — and  so  it  is  with  everything  that  man 
undertakes.  Yet  if  one  of  our  pupils  shows  a  special  inclina- 
tion for  this  or  that  language,  provision  is  made  even  in  the 
midst  of  this  tumultuous-seeming  life,  which  affords  withal  very 
many  quiet,  idle,  and  lonely,  nay,  tedious  hours,  for  true  and 
thorough  instruction.  You  would  have  some  difficulty  in  pick- 
ing out  our  equestrian  grammarians,  amongst  whom  there  are 
verily  a  few  pedants,  from  amidst  these  bearded  and  beardless 
centaurs.  Your  Felix  has  set  himself  to  Italian,  and  since 
melodious  singing,  as  you  know  already,  pervades  everything 
in  our  institutions,  you  might  hear  him,  in  the  monotony  of  a 
herdsman's  life,  bring  out  many  a  ditty  with  taste  and  feeling. 
Activity  and  practical  ability  are  far  more  reconcilable  with 
efficient  instruction  than  one  thinks." 

As  every  district  has  its  own  peculiar  festival,  the  guest  was 


WILHELN  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  175 

led  to  the  domain  of  instrumental  music.  Bordering  on  the 
plains,  it  at  once  exhibited  pleasantly  and  gracefully  diversified 
valleys,  little  narrow  copses,  gentle  brooks,  by  the  banks  of 
which  a  moss-grown  rock  slyly  peeped  out  here  and  there 
amidst  the  turf.  Scattered  habitations,  surrounded  by  bushes, 
were  to  be  seen  upon  the  hills ;  in  gentle  dales  the  houses  clus- 
tered nearer  to  each  other.  Those  cottages,  set  gracefully  apart, 
were  so  far  from  each  other,  that  no  musical  sound  either  true 
or  false  could  be  heard  from  one  to  the  other. 

They  now  approached  a  wide  space,  built  and  covered  round 
about,  where  men  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder  seemed  on  the 
tiptoe  of  attention  and  expectation.  Just  as  the  guest  entered, 
a  powerful  symphony  on  all  the  instruments  commenced,  the 
full-toned  strength  and  tenderness  of  which  he  could  not  but 
admire. 

By  the  side  of  this  roomily-constructed  orchestra  stood  a 
smaller  one,  which  attracted  special  attention ;  upon  it  were 
younger  and  older  scholars.  Each  held  his  instrument  in  read- 
iness without  playing  on  it.  These  were  they  who  as  yet  were 
not  able  or  did  not  venture  to  join  in  with  the  whole.  One 
noticed  with  interest  how  they  were  standing  as  it  were  at  the 
spring,  and  heard  it  declared  that  such  a  festival  seldom  passed 
by  without  a  genius  in  some  one  or  other  being  suddenly 
developed .  r 

When  vocal  music  also  was  brought  forward  in  the  intervals 
of  the  instrumental,  there  was  110  longer  room  to  doubt  that 
this  too  was  in  favor.  Upon  his  inquiry,  moreover,  as  to  what 
further  sort  of  education  was  joined  in  friendly  union  with  this, 
the  traveler  learned  that  it  was  the  art  of  poetry,  arid  withal  of 
the  lyric  sort.  Their  whole  aim  in  this  was  that  the  two  arts, 
each  for  and  from  itself,  but  at  the  same  time  in  contrast  to  and 
in  conjunction  with  each  other,  should  be  developed.  The 
pupils  learn  to  know  one  as  well  as  the  other  in  their  special 
limitations :  then  they  are  taught  how  they  mutually  limit,  and 
again  mutually  emancipate  one  another. 

To  the  rhythm  of  poetry  the  tone-artist  opposes  the  division 


176  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

and  movement  of  time.  But  here  the  sway  of  music  over  poetry 
soon  manifests  itself — for  if  the  latter,  as  is  proper  and  neces- 
sary, always  keeps  its  quantities  as  clearly  as  possible  in  view, 
yet  for  the  musician  few  syllables  are  definitely  long  or  short ; 
he  destroys  at  pleasure  the  most  conscientious  proceedings  of 
the  dealer  in  rhythm — nay,  actually  converts  prose  into  song ; 
whence  ensue  the  most  wonderful  possibilities,  and  the  poet 
would  very  soon  feel  himself  annihilated  were  he  not  able,  on 
his  own  part,  to  inspire  the  musician  with  reverence  by  means 
of  lyric  tenderness  and  boldness,  and  to  call  forth  new  feelings, 
at  one  time  in  the  most  delicate  gradation,  at  another  by  the 
most  abrupt  transitions. 

The  singers  one  finds  here  are  for  the  most  part  themselves 
poets.  Dancing,  too,  is  taught  in  its  rudiments;  so  that  all 
these  accomplishments  may  diffuse  themselves  methodically 
throughout  the  whole  of  these  regions. 

When  the  guest  was  conducted  across  the  next  boundary  he 
suddenly  beheld  quite  a  different  style  of  building.  The  houses 
were  no  longer  scattered,  and  no  more  of  the  cottage  sort ;  they 
rather  appeared  to  be  set  together  with  regularity — solid  and 
handsome  from  without,  roomy,  convenient,  and  elegant  within. 
Here  one  perceived  an  unconfmed  and  well-built  town,  adapted 
to  its  situation.  Here  plastic  art  and  its  kindred  crafts  are  at 
home,  and  a  stillness  quite  peculiar  prevails  in  these  places. 

The  plastic  artist,  it  is  true,  always  considers  himself  in 
relation  to  whatever  lives  and  moves  amidst  mankind ;  but 
his  occupation  is  a  solitary  one,  and,  by  the  strangest  contra- 
diction, no  other,  perhaps,  so  decidedly  calls  for  a  living  envi- 
ronment. Here,  then,  does  each  one  create  in  silence  what  is 
soon  to  occupy  the  eyes  of  men  forever.  A  Sabbath  stillness 
reigns  over  the  whole  place,  and  if  one  did  not  notice  here  and 
there  the  chipping  of  the  stone-mason,  or  the  measured  blows 
of  carpenters,  just  now  busily  employed  in  finishing  a  splendid 
building,  not  a  sound  would  disturb  the  air. 

Our  traveler  was  struck  with  the  seriousness,  the  wonderful 
strictness,  with  which  beginners,  as  well  as  the  more  advanced, 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  111 

were  treated ;  it  seemed  as  if  no  one  essayed  anything  by  his 
own  strength  and  power,  but  as  if  a  hidden  spirit  animated  all 
throughout,  guiding  them  to  one  single  great  end.  Neither 
draft  nor  sketch  was  anywhere  to  be  seen ;  every  stroke  was 
drawn  with  care.  And  when  the  traveler  asked  the  guide  for 
an  explanation  of  the  whole  process,  the  latter  remarked,  "  The 
imagination  is  of  itself  a  vague,  inconstant  faculty,  whilst  the 
whole  merit  of  the  plastic  artist  consists  in  this,  namely,  in 
learning  ever  more  and  more  to  define  and  grasp  it  firmly,  nay, 
even  at  last  to  elevate  it  to  the  level  of  the  present." 

He  was  reminded  of  the  necessity  in  other  arts  of  more  cer- 
tain principles.  "  Would  the  musician  allow  a  pupil  to  strike 
wildly  at  the  strings,  or  to  invent  intervals  according  to  his  own 
caprice  and  pleasure  ?  Here  it  is  remarkable  that  nothing  is 
to  be  left  to  the  learner's  discretion.  The  element  in  which  he 
is  to  work  is  given  definitely,  the  tool  that  he  has  to  handle  is 
placed  in  his  hand,  the  very  style  and  method  by  which  he  is 
to  avail  himself  of  them  (I  mean  the  fingering)  he  finds  pre- 
scribed, by  which  one  member  gets  out  of  the  way  of  another, 
and  gets  the  proper  road  ready  for  its  successor,  by  which  orderly 
cooperation  alone,  the  impossible  becomes  possible  at  last.  But 
what  mostly  justifies  us  in  strict  demands  and  definite  laws,  is 
that  it  is  precisely  genius,  the  inborn  talent,  that  grasps  them 
first,  and  yields  them  the  most  willing  obedience.  Only  me- 
diocrity would  fain  substitute  its  limited  specialty  for  the  un- 
limited whole,  and  glorify  its  false  ideas  under  the  pretence  of 
an  uncontrollable  originality  and  independence.  This,  however, 
we  do  not  let  pass,  but  we  protect  our  pupils  against  all  false 
steps,  whereby  a  great  part  of  life,  nay,  often  the  whole  life,  is 
confused  and  broken  up.  With  the  genius  we  love  best  to  deal. 
for  he  is  specially  inspired  with  the  good  spirit  of  recognizing 
quickly  what  is  useful  to  him.  He  sees  that  Art  is  called  Art, 
precisely  because  it  is  not  Nature ;  he  accommodates  himself  to 
the  proper  respect  even  for  that  which  might  be  called  conven- 
tional, for  what  else  is  this  but  that  the  best  men  have  agreed 
to  regard  the  necessary,  the  inevitable,  as  the  best?  And  is  it 
s.  M.— 12 


178  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

not  successful  in  every  case?  To  the  great  assistance  of  the 
teachers,  the  three  reverences  and  their  symbols  are  introduced 
and  inculcated  here  too,  as  everywhere  with  us,  with  some  varia- 
tion in  conformity  with  the  nature  of  the  business  that  prevails." 

As  the  traveler  was  led  further  around,  he  was  constrained 
to  wonder  at  the  fact,  that  the  city  seemed  to  extend  itself  for- 
ever, streets  growing  out  of  streets,  and  affording  numberless 
fine  views.  The  exterior  of  the  buildings  expressed  their  object 
unambiguously :  they  were  substantial  and  imposing,  less  showy 
than  beautiful.  After  the  nobler  and  more  solemn  one  in  the 
middle  of  the  town  came  those  of  more  cheerful  aspect,  until 
at  last  charming  suburbs,  of  a  graceful  character,  spread  away 
towards  the  open  country,  dwindling  away  finally  in  the  shape 
of  country  villas. 

The  traveler  could  not  avoid  remarking  here  that  the  habi- 
tations of  the  musicians  in  the  preceding  region  were,  in  respect 
to  beauty  and  size,  in  no  way  to  be  compared  with  the  present 
ones  in  which  painters,  sculptors,  and  architects  dwelt.  The 
answer  given  to  him  was  that  this  lay  in  the  nature  of  things. 
The  musician  must  always  be  absorbed  within  himself,  to  shape 
out  his  inmost  thought  and  to  bring  it  forth.  He  has  not  to 
flatter  the  sense  of  sight ;  the  eye  very  easily  supplants  the  ear, 
and  tempts  outward  the  spirit  from  within.  The  plastic  artist, 
on  the  contrary,  must  live  in  the  outer  world,  and  make  his 
inner  nature  manifest,  as  it  were  unconsciously,  on  and  in  the 
external  world.  Plastic  artists  must  live  like  kings  and  gods ; 
how  otherwise  would  they  build  and  adorn  for  kings  and  gods  ? 
They  must  at  last  raise  themselves  above  the  ordinary  so  far 
that  the  whole  community  may  feel  honored  in  and  by  their 
works. 

Our  friend  then  desired  the  explanation  of  another  paradox 
— why  is  it  that  just  on  these  festivals,  which  in  other  regions 
are  such  lively  and  tumultuously  excited  days,  here  the  greatest 
quiet  prevails,  and  work  is  not  even  exhibited  ? 

"  A  plastic  artist,"  he  said,  "  requires  no  festival ;  to  him  the 
whole  year  is  a  festival.  When  he  has  accomplished  anything 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  179 

excellent,  it  stands  afterwards,  as  it  did  before,  in  his  sight  and 
in  the  sight  of  the  whole  world.  In  this  no  repetition  is  needed, 
no  new  effort,  no  fresh  success,  such  as  the  musician  is  forever 
tormented  by :  who  for  that  reason  is  not  to  be  grudged  the  most 
splendid  festival  amidst  the  most  numerous  audience." 

"  But  yet,"  replied  Wilhelm,  "  on  days  like  this  one  would  be 
glad  to  see  an  exhibition  in  which  the  three  years'  progress  of 
the  best  pupils  might  be  examined  and  criticised  with  pleasure." 

"  In  other  places,"  he  was  told,  "  an  exhibition  may  be  neces- 
sary ;  with  us  it  is  not ;  our  whole  end  and  aim  is  exhibition. 
Look  here  at  the  buildings  of  every  sort,  all  carried  out  by 
pupils ;  after  plans  discussed  and  revised,  it  is  true,  a  hundred 
times ;  for  one  who  builds  must  not  potter  about  and  make  ex- 
periments. What  has  to  remain  standing  must  stand  well,  and 
suffice,  if  not  for  eternity,  at  any  rate  for  a  considerable  time. 
We  may  commit  ever  so  many  faults,  but  we  must  not  build 
any.  With  sculptors  we  deal  a  little  more  leniently,  most  len- 
iently of  all  with  painters;  they  may  experiment,  here  and 
there,  each  in  his  own  style.  It  is  open  to  them  to  choose  in 
the  inside  or  outside  spaces  of  buildings,  in  the  open  squares,  a 
spot  which  they  will  decorate.  They  make  their  ideas  public, 
and  if  one  is  in  any  degree  worthy  of  approbation,  the  execution 
is  agreed  to ;  but  in  one  of  two  ways — either  with  the  privilege 
of  taking  the  work  away,  sooner  or  later,  should  it  cease  to  please 
the  artist  himself,  or  with  the  condition  of  leaving  the  work, 
when  once  set  up  irremovably  in  its  place.  The  most  choose 
the  former,  and  reserve  the  privilege  for  themselves,  in  which 
they  are  always  well  advised.  The  second  case  seldom  occurs ; 
and  it  is  observable  that  the  artists  then  rely  less  upon  them- 
selves, hold  long  conferences  with  their  comrades  and  critics, 
and  by  that  means  manage  to  produce  works  really  worthy  of 
being  valued  and  made  permanent." 

After  all  this  Wilhelm  did  not  neglect  to  inquire  what  other 
instruction  was  given  besides,  and  he  was  informed  that  this 
consisted  of  poetry,  and  in  fact  of  epic  poetry. 

Yet  it  must  needs  appear  strange  to  our  friend  when  they 


180  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

added  that  the  pupils  are  not  allowed  to  read  or  to  recite  the 
completed  poems  of  ancient  and  modern  poets.  "  Merely  a  series 
of  myths,  traditions,  and  legends  is  briefly  imparted  to  them. 
Thus  we  soon  recognize  by  pictorial  or  poetic  expression,  the 
special  productive  power  of  the  genius  devoted  to  one  or  the 
other  art.  Poets  and  artists  both  occupy  themselves  at  the  same 
well-spring,  and  each  one  tries  to  guide  the  stream  towards  his 
own  side  for  his  own  advantage,  so  as  to  attain  his  end  accord- 
ing to  his  requirements ;  at  which  he  succeeds  much  better 
than  if  he  set  about  making  over  again  what  has  been  made 
already." 

The  traveler  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  process  him- 
self. Several  painters  were  busy  in  one  room ;  a  lively  young 
companion  was  telling  a  quite  simple  story  very  circumstan- 
tially, so  that  he  employed  almost  as  many  words  as  they  did 
pencil-strokes  to  complete  his  exposition  in  the  most  rounded 
style  possible. 

They  assured  Wilhelm  that  in  their  joint  work  the  friends 
entertained  themselves  very  pleasantly,  and  that  in  this  way 
improvisators  were  often  developed  who  were  able  to  arouse 
great  enthusiasm  in  the  twofold  representation. 

Our  friend  now  turned  his  inquiries  again  to  plastic  art'. 
"  You  have,"  he  said,  "  no  exhibition,  and  consequently,  I  sup- 
pose, no  award  of  prizes." 

"  We  have  not,  in  point  of  fact,"  replied  the  other,  "  but,  quite 
close  by  here,  we  can  let  you  see  what  we  regard  as  more  useful." 

They  turned  into  a  large  hall,  lighted  with  good  effect  from 
above.  A  large  circle  of  busy  artists  was  first  seen,  from  the 
midst  of  whom  a  colossal  group,  favorably  placed,  reared  itself. 
Vigorous  male  and  female  forms,  in  powerful  poses,  reminded 
one  of  that  splendid  fight  between  youthful  heroes  and  Ama- 
zons, in  which  hate  and  animosity  at  last  resolve  themselves 
into  mutual  and  faithful  alliance.  This  remarkably  involved 
piece  of  art-work  was  seen  to  equal  advantage  from  any  point 
around  it.  Artists  were  sitting  and  standing  in  a  large  circle, 
each  occupied  after  his  own  fashion :  the  painter  at  his  easel, 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  181 

the  draughtsman  at  his  drawing-board,  some  modeling  in  the 
round,  some  in  bas-relief;  architects  were  even  making  draw- 
ings for  the  pedestal,  upon  which  a  similar  work  of  art  was  after- 
wards to  be  placed.  Everyone  taking  part  in  it  adopted  his 
own  method  in  copying.  Painters  and  draughtsmen  developed 
the  group  in  the  flat,  carefully,  indeed,  so  as  not  to  spoil  it,  but 
to  give  as  much  as  possible.  The  work  in  bas-relief  was  treated 
in  precisely  the  same  manner.  Only  one  had  reproduced  the 
whole  group  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  in  certain  movements  and 
arrangement  of  members  he  really  seemed  to  have  surpassed 
the  model. 

It  now  appeared  that  this  was  the  designer  of  the  model,  who, 
before  its  execution  in  marble,  was  now  submitting  it  not  to  a 
critical  but  to  a  practical  test ;  and  who,  by  taking  accurate  note 
of  everything  that  each  of  his  fellow-workers,  according  to  his 
own  method  and  way  of  thinking,  saw,  preserved,  or  altered  in 
it,  was  enabled  to  turn  it  to  his  own  advantage;  with  this  object, 
that  ultimately,  when  the  perfect  work  should  come  forth  chis- 
eled in  marble,  though  undertaken,  designed,  and  executed  by 
only  one,  yet  still  it  might  seem  to  belong  to  all. 

In  this  room,  too,  the  greatest  silence  reigned ;  but  the  director 
raised  his  voice  and  cried,  "  Who  is  there  here,  who,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  motionless  work,  can  so  move  the  imagination  with 
the  excellence  of  his  words  that  all  that  we  can  see  transfixed 
here  shall  again  become  resolved  without  losing  its  character, 
so  that  we  may  convince  ourselves  that  what  the  artist  has  here 
laid  hold  of  is  indeed  the  worthiest  ?  " 

Expressly  called  on  by  them  all,  a  beautiful  youth  left  his 
work,  and  began  by  delivering  a  quiet  discourse,  in  which  he 
seemed  merely  to  describe  the  present  work ;  but  soon  he  threw 
himself  into  the  peculiar  region  of  poetry,  plunged  into  the  midst 
of  the  action,  and  controlled  this  element  to  a  marvel.  Little 
by  little  his  rendering  was  elevated  by  brilliant  declamation,  to 
such  a  height  that  the  rigid  group  seemed  to  turn  upon  its 
axis,  and  the  number  of  the  figures  seemed  thereby  doubled  and 
trebled.  Wilhelm  stood  enraptured,  and  at  last  cried,  "  Who 


182  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

can  longer  refrain  from  passing  on  into  actual  song  and  rhyth- 
mic verse  ?  " 

"  This  I  would  beg  to  refuse,"  replied  the  overseer,  "  for  if  our 
excellent  sculptor  will  speak  sincerely,  he  will  confess  that  our 
poet  hardly  pleases  him,  and  simply  because  the  two  artists 
stand  as  far  as  possible  from  one  another :  on  the  other  hand, 
I  would  wager  that  here  and  there  a  painter  has  appropriated 
from  him  certain  living  traits.  Yet  there  is  a  gentle  kindly 
song  that  I  might  allow  our  friend  to  hear,  one  that  you  deliver 
with  such  sweet  seriousness :  it  relates  to  art  as  a  whole,  and 
does  me  good  myself  whenever  I  hear  it." 

After  a  pause,  in  which  they  beckoned  to  each  other,  and 
made  arrangements  by  signs,  the  following  fine  heart-and-spirit- 
stirring  song  resounded  from  all  sides  : 

"  To  invent  and  bring  to  ending, 

Artist,  bide  thou  oft  alone : 
Joy  to  reap  from  toilsome  spending, 

Gayly  to  thy  friends  begone! 
See  them  as  a  whole  compacted, 

And  discern  thine  own  career; 
Deeds  in  many  a  year  enacted 

In  thy  neighbor  will  be  clear. 

"  First  conceiving,  then  presenting, 

Ranging  shapes  in  order  wise, 
Each  of  them  the  rest  accenting 

Till  at  last  they  all  suffice. 
Well  invented,  render'd  neatly, 

Feelingly  and  thoroughly  done, 
Thus  the  artist  hath  discreetly 

Power  from  everlasting  won. 

"  As  the  thousand  forms  of  nature 

Of  one  God  alone  do  tell, 
So  does  one  enduring  feature 

In  Art's  wide  domain  prevail. 
This,  the  sense  of  Truth  Eternal, 

Beauty  dons  as  her  array, 
And  unharmed  by  light  supernal 

Grazes  on  the  brightest  day. 


WILHELM  MEISTER'S    WANDERJAHRE  188 

"  As  the  speaker,  as  the  singer 

Blithely  fare  in  rhyme  or  prose, 
Fresh  beneath  the  painter's  finger 

Must  bloom  forth  Life's  joyous  rose. 
With  her  sisters  round  her  closing, 

With  the  fruits  that  autumn  brings, 
Thus  the  mysteries  disclosing 

Of  Life's  deeply  hidden  springs. 

"  Form  from  form  do  thou  dissever, 

Fair,  in  shapes  a  thousand  fold ; 
Of  man's  image  glad  forever 

That  a  God  it  did  enfold. 
Stand  in  brotherhood  united, 

Whatsoe'er  your  work  may  be ; 
And  like  sacred  incense  lighted 

Rise  on  high  in  melody." 

Wilhelm  might  well  have  let  all  this  pass,  although  it  must 
have  seemed  to  him  very  paradoxical,  and,  had  he  not  seen  it 
with  his  eyes,  actually  impossible.  But  when  they  proceeded, 
in  beautiful  sequence,  to  declare  and  make  it  all  clear  to  him 
openly  and  frankly,  he  hardly  needed  to  ask  a  single  question 
for  further  information ;  yet  he  did  not  forbear,  at  last,  to  ad- 
dress his  conductor  as  follows : 

"  I  see  that  here  everything  desirable  in  life  has  been  pro- 
vided for  very  wisely ;  but  tell  me,  besides,  which  region  can 
manifest  a  similar  solicitude  for  dramatic  poetry,  and  where 
might  I  gain  information  on  that  subject?  I  have  looked 
round  amongst  all  your  edifices,  and  find  none  that  could  be 
destined  for  such  an  object." 

"  In  reply  to  this  question  we  cannot  deny  that  there  is  noth- 
ing of  the  sort  to  be  met  with  in  the  whole  of  our  province,  for 
the  theater  presupposes  an  idle  crowd,  perhaps  even  a  rabble, 
the  like  of  which  is  not  to  be  found  amongst  us;  for  such 
people,  if  they  do  not  go  away  disgusted  of  their  own  accord, 
are  conveyed  across  the  frontier.  Be  assured,  however,  that  in 
our  universally  active  institution  so  important  a  point  as  this 
has  been  well  considered;  but  no  region  could  be  found  for  it; 


184  JOHANN   WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

some  weighty  objection  occurred  in  every  case.  Who  is  there 
amongst  our  pupils  who  would  have  easily  made  up  his  mind 
to  awaken  in  this  mass,  with  feigned  merriment  or  hypocritical 
sorrow,  an  unreal  emotion  inconsistent  with  the  time,  and 
thereby  produce  in  alterations  an  ever-dubious  pleasure  ?  Such 
foolishness  we  considered  altogether  dangerous,  and  could  not 
connect  it  with  our  serious  aim." 

"  And  yet  it  is  said,"  replied  Wilhelm,  "  that  this  widely- 
encompassing  art  requires  all  the  others  together." 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  reply ;  "  she  makes  use  of  the  others, 
but  spoils  them.  I  do  not  blame  the  actor  when  he  associates 
himself  with  the  painter ;  but  still  the  painter,  in  such  a  partner- 
ship, is  lost.  The  actor,  without  any  conscience,  will,  for  his 
own  momentary  ends,  and  with  no  small  profit,  use  up  all  that 
art  and  life  offer  him;  the  painter,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
would  reap  some  advantage  again  from  the  theater,  will  always 
find  himself  at  a  disadvantage,  and  the  musician  will  be  in  the 
same  case.  The  arts  seem  to  me  like  so  many  sisters,  of  whom 
the  greater  number  have  been  disposed  to  economy,  but  one  of 
trivial  disposition  has  had  a  mind  to  appropriate  the  posses- 
sions and  property  of  the  whole  family.  The  theater  is  in  this 
situation :  it  has  an  ambiguous  origin,  which,  whether  as  art  or 
handicraft  or  dilettanteism,  it  can  never  wholly  disguise." 

Wilhelm  looked  down  with  a  deep  sigh,  for  all  the  enjoyment 
and  the  sorrow  that  he  had  had  from  and  on  the  stage  were 
suddenly  present  to  him.  He  blessed  the  good  men  who  were 
wise  enough  to  spare  their  pupils  such  pain,  who,  from  con- 
viction and  principle,  banished  these  perils  from  their  circle. 

His  conductor,  however,  did  not  leave  him  long  to  these 
meditations,  but  proceeded :  "  As  it  is  our  highest  and  holiest 
principle  to  misdirect  no  disposition  or  talent,  we  cannot  hide 
from  ourselves  the  fact,  that  amongst  so  great  a  number,  a 
natural  mimetic  gift  may  very  likely  be  decisively  displayed. 
This,  however,  shows  itself  in  an  irrepressible  desire  to  ape  the 
characters,  figures,  motion,  and  speech  of  others.  This  we  do 
not  encourage,  it  is  true,  but  we  observe  the  pupil  carefully,  and 


WILHELM  MEISTER'3    WANDERJAHRE  185 

if  he  remains  throughout  true  to  his  nature,  we  have  put  our- 
selves in  connection  with  the  large  theaters  of  all  nations,  and 
thither  we  send  any  one  of  tried  capacity,  in  order  that,  like 
the  duck  upon  the  pond,  he  may  with  all  speed  be  guided  on 
the  stage  to  the  future  waddling  and  quacking  of  his  life." 

Wilhelm  listened  to  this  with  patience,  yet  only  with  partial 
conviction,  and  perhaps  with  some  annoyance ;  for  so  wonder- 
fully is  man  minded,  that  whilst  he  is  really  persuaded  of  the 
worthlessness  of  some  favorite  subject  or  other,  and  will  turn 
s.way  from,  and  even  execrate  himself,  yet  still  he  will  not  bear 
to  have  it  treated  in  the  same  way  by  any  one  else,  and  prob- 
ably the  spirit  of  contradiction  which  dwells  in  all  mankind 
is  never  more  vigorously  and  effectively  excited  than  in  such 
a  case. 

The  editor  of  these  papers  may  even  confess  that  he  allows 
this  wonderful  passage  to  pass  with  some  reluctance.  Has  he 
not,  too,  in  many  senses  devoted  more  than  a  due  share  of  life 
and  strength  to  the  theater?  and  would  it  be  easy  to  convince 
him  that  this  has  been  an  inexcusable  error,  a  fruitless  exer- 
tion? 

However,  we  have  not  time  to  apply  ourselves  ill-humoredly 
to  such  recollections  and  underlying  feelings,  for  our  friend 
finds  himself  agreeably  surprised  on  seeing  before  him,  once 
more,  one  of  the  Three,  and  one  especially  sympathetic.  A 
communicative  gentleness,  telling  of  the  purest  peace  of  soul, 
imparted  itself  most  revivingly :  the  Wanderer  could  approach 
him  trustfully,  and  feel  that  his  trust  was  returned. 

He  now  learned  that  the  Superior  was  at  present  in  the  sanc- 
tuary, and  was  there  instructing,  teaching,  and  blessing,  whilst 
the  Three  arranged  severally  to  visit  all  the  regions,  and  in 
every  place — after  obtaining  the  most  minute  information,  and 
arranging  with  the  subordinate  overseers  to  carry  forward  what 
had  been  begun — to  establish  what  had  been  newly  determined, 
and  thus  faithfully  fulfill  their  high  duty. 

This  excellent  man  it  was  who  gave  him  a  more  general 
view  of  their  internal  economy  and  external  connections,  as  well 


186  JOHANN  WOLFGANG    VON  GOETHE 

as  a  knowledge  of  the  reciprocal  effect  of  all  the  different 
regions;  nor  did  he  fail  to  make  clear  how  a  pupil  could  be 
transferred  from  one  to  the  other  after  a  longer  or  shorter 
period.  Enough,  everything  fully  harmonized  with  what  he 
already  knew.  At  the  same  time,  the  account  given  of  his  son 
was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction,  and  the  plan  on  which  they 
intended  to  proceed  with  him  must  needs  obtain  his  entire 
approbation. 


MARY   RUSSELL  MITFORD 

1786-1855 

MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD  was  born  at  Alresford,  in  Hampshire,  Eng- 
land, in  1786.  She  was  highly  successful  as  an  author  and  as  a  com- 
piler. Her  fame  rests  chiefly  upon  her  exquisite  portraitures  of  Eng- 
lish village  life,  in  which  she  has  scarcely  a  rival.  In  her  preface  to 
"  Our  Village  "  she  says  :  "  The  writer  may  at  least  claim  the  merit  of 
a  hearty  love  of  her  subject,  and  of  that  local  and  personal  familiarity 
which  only  a  long  residence  in  one  neighborhood  could  have  enabled 
her  to  attain.  Her  descriptions  have  always  been  written  on  the  spot, 
and  at  the  moment,  and  in  nearly  every  instance  with  the  closest  and 
most  resolute  fidelity  to  the  place  and  the  people."  Miss  Mitford  wrote 
a  number  of  dramatic  works,  which  were  well  received,  and  her 
"  Recollections  of  a  Literary  Life,"  published  in  1851,  added  greatly 
to  her  reputation. 

Characterization 

The  following  dialogue  by  Professor  John  Wilson,  in  "Nodes  Ambro- 
siance  "  (taken  from  Blackwood's  Magazine),  affords  a  contemporary 
estimate  of  Miss  Mitford's  work.  Wilson  himself  appears  in  his  favor- 
ite character  of  Christopher  North,  and  the  shepherd  represents  the 
poet,  James  Hogg,  the  author  of  "Kilmeny."  By  means  of  such 
felicitous  "conversations,"  Professor  Wilson  was  accustomed  to  review 
the  literature  of  his  day. 

TICKLER.  Master  Christopher  North,  there's  Miss  Mitford,  author  of 
''  Our  Village, "  an  admirable  person  in  all  respects,  of  whom  you  have 
never,  to  my  recollection,  taken  any  notice  in  the  magazine.  What  is 
the  meaning  of  that  ?  Is  it  an  oversight  ?  Or  have  you  omitted  her 
name  intentionally  from  your  eulogies  on  our  female  worthies  ? 

NORTH.  I  am  waiting  for  her  second  volume.  Miss  Mitford  has  not, 
in  my  opinion,  either  the  pathos  or  humor  of  Washington  Irving  ;  but 
she  excels  him  in  vigorous  conception  of  character,  and  in  the  truth  of 
her  pictures  of  English  life  and  manners.  Her  writings  breathe  a 
sound,  pure,  and  healthy  morality,  and  are  pervaded  by  a  genuine 
rural  spirit — the  spirit  of  Merry  England.  Every  line  bespeaks  the 
lady. 


188  MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

SHEPHERD.  I  admire  Miss  Mitford  just  excessively.  I  dinna  wunner 
at  her  being  able  to  write  sae  weel  as  she  does  about  drawing-rooms, 
wi'  sofas  and  settees,  and  about  the  fine  folk  in  them,  seein  themsels  in 
lookin-glasses  frae  tap  to  tae  ;  but  what  puzzles  the  like  o'  me  is  her 
pictures  o'  poachers,  and  tinklers,  and  pottery-trampers,  and  ither 
neerdoweels,  and  o'  huts  and  hovels  without  riggin l  by  the  wayside, 
and  the  cottages  o'  honest  puir  men,  and  byres,"  and  barns,  and  stack- 
yards, and  merry-makins  at  winter  ingles,  and  courtship  aneath  trees, 
and  at  the  gable  ends  o'  farm-houses,  atween  lads  and  lasses  as  laigh3  in 
life  as  the  servants  in  her  father's  ha'.  That's  the  puzzle  and  that's  the 
praise. 

The    Village   Schoolmistress 

(From  "Our  Village") 

Women,  fortunately  perhaps  for  their  happiness  and  their 
virtue,  have,  as  compared  with  men,  so  few  opportunities  of 
acquiring  permanent  distinction,  that  it  is  rare  to  find  a  female, 
unconnected  with  literature  or  with  history,  whose  name  is 
remembered  after  her  monument  is  defaced,  and  the  brass  on 
her  coffin-lid  is  corroded.  Such,  however,  was  the  case  with 
Dame  Eleanor,  the  widow  of  Sir  Richard  Lacy,  whose  name,  at 
the  end  of  three  centuries,  continued  to  be  as  freshly  and  as  fre- 
quently spoken,  as  "  familiar "  a  "  household  word,"  in  the  little 
village  of  Aberleigh,  as  if  she  had  flourished  there  yesterday. 
Her  memory  was  embalmed  by  a  deed  of  charity  and  of  good- 
ness. She  had  founded  and  endowed  a  girls'  school  for  "  the 
instruction  "  (to  use  the  words  of  the  deed)  "  of  twenty  poor 
children,  and  the  maintenance  of  one  discreet  and  godly 
matron ; "  and  the  school  still  continued  to  be  called  after  its 
foundress,  and  the  very  spot  on  which  the  schoolhouse  stood, 
to  be  known  by  the  name  of  Lady  Lacy's  Green. 

It  was  a  spot  worthy  of  its  destination — a  spot  of  remarkable 
cheerfulness  and  beauty.  The  Green  was  small,  of  irregular 
shape,  and  situate  at  a  confluence  of  shady  lanes.  Half  the 
roads  and  paths  of  the  parish  met  there,  probably  for  the  con- 
venience of  crossing  in  that  place,  by  a  stone  bridge  of  one  arch 

1  roofs  2  cow-sheds  3  low 


THE   VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  189 

covered  with  ivy,  the  winding  rivulet  which  intersected  the 
whole  village,  and  which,  sweeping  in  a  narrow  channel  round 
the  school  garden,  widened  into  a  stream  of  some  consequence 
in  the  richly-wooded  meadows  beyond.  The  banks  of  the 
brook,  as  it  wound  its  glittering  course  over  the  green,  were  set, 
here  and  there,  with  clumps  of  forest  trees,  chiefly  bright  green 
elms,  and  aspens  with  their  quivering  leaves  and  their  pale 
shining  bark ;  whilst  a  magnificent  beech  stood  alone  near  the 
gate  leading  to  the  school,  partly  overshadowing  the  little  court 
in  which  the  house  was  placed.  The  building  itself  was  a 
beautiful  small  structure,  in  the  ornamented  style  of  Elizabeth's 
day,  with  pointed  roofs  and  pinnacles,  and  clustered  chimneys, 
and  casement  windows ;  the  whole  house  enwreathed  and  gar- 
landed by  a  most  luxuriant  vine. 

The  date  of  the  erection,  1563,  was  cut  in  a  stone  inserted  in 
the  brick-work  above  the  porch :  but  the  foundress  had,  with  an 
unostentatious  modesty,  withheld  her  name ;  leaving  it,  as  she 
safely  might,  to  the  grateful  recollection  of  the  successive  gen- 
erations who  profited  by  her  benevolence.  Altogether  it  was  a 
most  gratifying  scene  to  the  eye  and  to  the  heart.  No  one  ever 
saw  Lady  Lacy's  schoolhouse  without  admiration,  especially  in 
the  play-hour  at  noon,  when  the  children,  freed  from  "  restraint 
that  sweetens  liberty,"  were  clustered  under  the  old  beech-tree, 
reveling  in  their  innocent  freedom,  running,  jumping,  shout- 
ing, and  laughing  with  all  their  might ;  the  only  sort  of  riot 
which  it  is  pleasant  to  witness.  The  painter  and  the  philan- 
thropist might  contemplate  that  scene  with  equal  delight. 

The  right  of  appointing  both  the  mistress  and  the  scholars 
had  been  originally  invested  in  the  Lacy  family,  to  whom 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  parish  had  at  one  time  belonged.  But 
the  estates,  the  manor,  the  hall-house,  had  long  passed  into 
other  hands  and  other  names,  and  this  privilege  of  charity  was 
now  the  only  possession  which  the  heirs  of  Lady  Lacy  retained 
in  Aberleigh.  Reserving  to  themselves  the  right  of  nominating 
the  matron,  her  descendants  had  therefore  delegated  to  the 
vicar  and  the  parish  officers  the  selection  of  the  children,  and 


190  MART  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

the  general  regulation  of  the  school — a  sort  of  council  of 
regency,  which,  simple  and  peaceful  as  the  government  seems, 
a  disputatious  churchwarden  or  a  sturdy  overseer  would  some- 
times contrive  to  render  sufficiently  stormy.  I  have  known 
as  much  canvassing  and  almost  as  much  ill-will  in  a  contested 
election  for  one  of  Lady  Lacy's  scholarships,  as  for  a  scholar- 
ship in  grander  places,  or  even  for  an  M.  P.-ship  in  the  next 
borough ;  and  the  great  schism  between  the  late  Farmer 
Brookes  and  all  his  coadjutors,  as  to  whether  the  original  uni- 
form of  little  green  stuff  gowns,  with  white  bibs  and  aprons, 
tippets  and ,  mob,  should  be  commuted  for  modern  cotton 
frocks  and  cottage  bonnets,  fairly  set  the  parish  by  the  ears. 
Owing  to  the  good  farmer's  glorious  obstinacy,  (which  I  sup- 
pose he  called  firmness,)  the  green-gownians  lost  the  day.  I 
believe  that,  as  a  matter  of  calculation,  the  man  might  be  right, 
and  that  his  costume  was  cheaper  and  more  convenient ;  but  I 
am  sure  that  I  should  have  been  against  him,  right  or  wrong  : 
the  other  dress  was  so  pretty,  so  primitive,  so  neat,  so  becom- 
ing ;  the  little  lasses  looked  like  rose-buds  in  the  midst  of  their 
leaves:  besides,  it  was  the  old  traditionary  dress — the  dress 
contrived  and  approved  by  Lady  Lacy.  Oh  !  it  should  never 
have  been  changed,  never ! 

Since  there  was  so  much  contention  in  the  election  of  pupils, 
it  was  perhaps  lucky  for  the  vestry  that  the  exercise  of  the  more 
splendid  piece  of  patronage,  the  appointment  of  a  mistress,  did 
not  enter  into  its  duties.  Mr.  Lacy,  the  representative  of  the 
foundress,  a  man  of  fortune  in  a  distant  county,  generally 
bestowed  the  situation  on  some  old  dependant  of  his  family. 
During  the  churchwardenship  of  Farmer  Brookes,  no  less  than 
three  village  gouvernantes  arrived  at  Aberleigh — a  quick  suc- 
cession !  It  made  more  than  half  the  business  of  our  zealous 
and  bustling  man  of  office,  an  amateur  in  such  matters,  to 
instruct  and  overlook  them.  The  first  importation  was  Dame 
Whitaker,  a  person  of  no  small  importance,  who  had  presided 
as  head  nurse  over  two  generations  of  the  Lacys,  and  was  now, 
on  the  dispersion  of  the  last  set  of  her  nurslings  to  their  differ- 


THE   VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  191 

ent  schools,  and  an  unlucky  quarrel  with  a  favorite  lady's  maid, 
promoted  and  banished  to  this  distant  government.  Nobody 
could  well  be  more  unfit  for  her  new  station,  or  better  suited  to 
her  old.  She  was  a  nurse  from  top  to  toe,  round,  portly,  smiling, 
with  a  coaxing  voice,  and  an  indolent  manner ;  much  addicted 
to  snuff  and  green  tea,  to  sitting  still,  to  telling  long  stories,  and 
to  humoring  children.  She  spoiled  every  brat  she  came  near, 
just  as  she  had  been  used  to  spoil  the  little  Master  Edwards 
and  Miss  Julias  of  her  ancient  dominions.  She  could  not  have 
scolded  if  she  would — the  gift  was  not  in  her.  Under  her 
misrule  the  school  grew  into  sad  disorder;  the  girls  not  only 
learned  nothing,  but  unlearned  what  they  knew  before;  work 
was  lost — even  the  new  shifts  of  the  Vicar's  lady ;  books  were 
torn;  and  for  the  climax  of  evil,  no  sampler1  was  prepared 
to  carry  round  at  Christmas,  from  house  to  house — the  first  time 
such  an  omission  had  occurred  within  the  memory  of  man. 

Farmer  Brookes  was  at  his  wits'  end.  He  visited  the  school 
six  days  in  the  week,  to  admonish  and  reprove ;  he  even  went 
nigh  to  threaten  that  he  would  work  a  sampler  himself;  and 
finally  bestowed  on  the  unfortunate  ex-nurse  the  nick-name  of 
Queen  Log,2  a  piece  of  disrespect,  which,  together  with  other 
grievances,  proved  so  annoying  to  poor  Dame  Whitaker,  that 
she  found  the  air  of  Aberleigh  disagree  with  her,  patched  up 
a  peace  with  her  old  enemy  the  lady's  maid,  abdicated  that 
unruly  and  rebellious  principality,  the  school,  and  retired  with 
great  delight  to  her  quiet  home  in  the  deserted  nursery,  where, 
as  far  as  I  know,  she  still  remains. 

The  grief  of  the  children  on  losing  this  most  indulgent  non- 
instructress  was  not  mitigated  by  the  appearance  or  demeanor 
of  her  successor,  who  at  first  seemed  a  preceptress  after  Farmer 
Brookes's  own  heart,  a  perfect  Queen  Stork.  Dame  Banks  was 

1  a  collection  of  needle-work  patterns,  as  letters  or  the  like 
*  "  Queen  Log"  and  "  Queen  Stork"  are  suggested  by  a  celebrated  fable  of 
2Esop,  in  which  it  is  related  that  the  frogs  petitioned  Jupiter  for  a  king,  and 
that  they  were  first  given  a  log,  which  did  nothing  but  make  a  single  terrifying 
splash  in  the  water.  In  contempt  for  this  inane  monarch,  they  petitioned  for 
one  of  another  sort,  when  a  stork  was  sent  to  devour  them. 


192  MART  RUSSELL   MITFORD 

the  widow  of  Mr.  Lacy's  gamekeeper;  a  little  thin  woman,  with 
a  hooked  nose,  a  sharp  voice,  and  a  prodigious  activity  of 
tongue.  She  scolded  all  day  long ;  and,  for  the  first  week, 
passed  for  a  great  teacher.  After  that  time  it  began  to  be  dis- 
covered that,  in  spite  of  her  lessons,  the  children  did  not  learn ; 
notwithstanding  her  rating  they  did  not  mind,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  continual  bustle  nothing  was  ever  done.  Dame  Banks  was 
in  fact  a  well-intentioned,  worthy  woman,  with  a  restless,  irri- 
table temper,  a  strong  desire  to  do  her  duty,  and  a  woeful  igno- 
rance how  to  set  about  it.  She  was  rather  too  old  to  be  taught 
either ;  at  least  she  required  a  gentler  instructor  than  the  good 
churchwarden  ;  and  so  much  ill-will  was  springing  up  between 
them  that  he  had  even  been  heard  to  regret  the  loss  of  Dame 
Whitaker's  quietness,  when  very  suddenly  poor  Dame  Banks  fell 
ill,  and  died.  The  sword  had  worn  the  scabbard  ;  but  she  was 
better  than  she  seemed  ;  a  thoroughly  well-meaning  woman — 
grateful,  pious,  and  charitable ;  even  our  man  of  office  admit- 
ted this. 

The  next  in  succession  was  one  with  whom  my  trifling  pen, 
dearly  as  that  light  and  fluttering  instrument  loves  to  dally 
and  disport  over  the  surface  of  things,  must  take  no  saucy  free- 
dom ;  one  of  whom  we  all  felt  it  impossible  to  speak  or  to  think 
without  respect ;  one  who  made  Farmer  Brookes's  office  of  ad- 
viser a  sinecure,  by  putting  the  whole  school,  himself  included, 
into  its  proper  place,  setting  everybody  in  order,  and  keeping 
them  so.  I  don't  know  how  she  managed,  unless  by  good  sense 
and  good  humor,  and  that  happy  art  of  government,  which 
seems  no  art  at  all,  because  it  is  so  perfect ;  but  the  children 
were  busy  and  happy,  the  vestry  pleased,  and  the  church- 
warden contented.  All  went  well  under  Mrs.  Allen. 

She  was  an  elderly  woman,  nearer  perhaps  to  seventy  than 
to  sixty,  and  of  an  exceedingly  venerable  and  prepossessing  ap- 
pearance. Delicacy  was  her  chief  characteristic — a  delicacy  so 
complete  that  it  pervaded  her  whole  person,  from  her  tall, 
slender  figure,  her  fair,  faded  complexion,  and  her  silver  hair 
to  the  exquisite  nicety  of  dress  by  which  at  all  hours  and  sea- 


THE   VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  193 

sons,  from  Sunday  morning  to  Saturday  night,  she  was  inva- 
riably distinguished.  The  soil  of  the  day  was  never  seen  on 
her  apparel ;  dust  would  not  cling  to  her  snowy  caps  and  hand- 
kerchiefs ;  such  was  the  art  magic  of  her  neatness.  Her  very 
pins  did  their  office  in  a  different  manner  from  those  belonging 
to  other  people.  Her  manner  was  gentle,  cheerful,  and  court- 
eous,  with  a  simplicity  and  propriety  of  expression  that  per- 
plexed all  listeners ;  it  seemed  so  exactly  what  belongs  to  the 
highest  birth  and  the  highest  breeding. 

She  was  humble,  very  humble ;  but  her  humility  was  evi- 
dently the  result  of  a  truly  Christian  spirit,  and  would  equally 
have  distinguished  her  in  any  station.  The  poor  people,  always 
nice  judges  of  behavior,  felt,  they  did  not  know  why,  that  she  was 
their  superior ;  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  suspected  her  to 
be  their  equal — some  clergyman's  or  officer's  widow,  reduced  in 
circumstances;  and  would  have  treated  her  as  such,  had  she  not, 
on  discovering  their  mistake,  eagerly  undeceived  them.  She 
had  been,  she  said,  all  her  life  a  servant,  the  personal  attendant 
of  one  dear  mistress,  on  whose  decease  she  had  been  recom- 
mended to  Mr.  Lacy;  and  to  his  kindness,  under  Providence, 
was  indebted  for  a  home  and  a  provision  for  her  helpless  age, 
and  the  still  more  helpless  youth  of  a  poor  orphan,  far  dearer  to 
her  than  herself.  This  avowal,  although  it  changed  the  charac- 
ter of  the  respect  paid  to  Mrs.  Allen,  was  certainly  not  calcu- 
lated to  diminish  its  amount ;  and  the  new  mistress  of  Lady 
Lacy's  school,  and  the  beautiful  order  of  her  house  and  garden, 
continued  to  be  the  pride  and  admiration  of  Aberleigh. 

The  orphan  of  whom  she  spoke  was  a  little  girl  about  eleven 
years  old,  who  lived  with  her,  and  whose  black  frock  bespoke 
the  recent  death  of  some  relative.  She  had  lately,  Mrs.  Allen 
said,  lost  her  grandmother — her  only  remaining  parent,  and 
had  now  no  friend  but  herself  on  earth ;  but  there  was  One 
above  who  was  a  Father  to  the  fatherless,  and  he  would  protect 
poor  Jane  !  And  as  she  said  this,  there  was  a  touch  of  emotion, 
a  break  of  the  voice,  a  tremor  on  the  lip,  very  unlike  the  usual 
cheerfulness  and  self-command  of  her  manner.  The  child  was 
s.  M.— 13 


194  MART  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

evidently  very  dear  to  her.  Jane  was,  indeed,  a  most  interest- 
ing creature;  not  pretty — a  girl  of  that  age  seldom  is;  the 
beauty  of  childhood  is  outgrown,  that  of  youth  not  come ;  and 
Jane  could  scarcely  ever  have  had  any  other  pretensions  to 
prettiness  than  the  fine  expression  of  her  dark  gray  eyes,  and 
the  general  sweetness  of  her  countenance.  She  was  pale,  thin, 
and  delicate ;  serious  and  thoughtful  far  beyond  her  years ; 
averse  from  play,  and  shrinking  from  notice.  Her  fondness  for 
Mrs.  Allen,  and  her  constant  and  unremitting  attention  to  her 
health  and  comforts,  were  peculiarly  remarkable.  Every  part 
of  their  small  housewifery,  that  her  height  and  strength  and 
skill  would  enable  her  to  perform,  she  insisted  on  doing,  and 
many  things  far  beyond  her  power  she  attempted.  Never  was 
so  industrious  or  so  handy  a  little  maiden.  Old  Nelly  Chun,  the 
char-woman,  who  went  once  a  week  to  the  house,  to  wash  and 
bake  and  scour,  declared  that  Jane  did  more  than  herself;  and 
to  all  who  knew  Nelly's  opinion  of  her  own  doings,  this  praise 
appeared  superlative. 

In  the  schoolroom  she  was  equally  assiduous,  not  as  a  learner, 
but  as  a  teacher.  None  so  clever  as  Jane  in  superintending 
the  different  exercises  of  the  needle,  the  spelling-book  and  the 
slate.  From  the  little  work-woman's  first  attempt  to  insert 
thread  into  a  pocket  handkerchief,  the  digging  and  plowing 
of  cambric,  miscalled  hemming,  up  to  the  nice  and  delicate 
mysteries  of  stitching  and  button-holing ;  from  the  easy  junc- 
tion of  a  b,  ab,  and  b  a,  ba,  to  that  tremendous  sesquipedalian 
word  irrefragability,  at  which  even  I  tremble  as  I  write ;  from 
the  Numeration  Table  to  Practice,  nothing  came  amiss  to  her. 
In  figures  she  was  particularly  quick.  Generally  speaking,  her 
patience  with  the  other  children,  however  dull  or  tiresome  or 
giddy  they  might  be,  was  exemplary ;  but  a  false  accountant,  a 
stupid  arithmetician,  would  put  her  out  of  humor.  The  only 
time  I  ever  heard  her  sweet,  gentle  voice  raised  a  note  above 
its  natural  key,  was  in  reprimanding  Susan  Wheeler,  a  sturdy, 
square-made,  rosy-cheeked  lass,  as  big  again  as  herself,  the 
dunce  and  beauty  of  the  school,  who  had  three  times  cast  up  a 


THE   VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  195 

sum  of  three  figures,  and  three  times  made  the  total  wrong. 
Jane  ought  to  have  admired  the  ingenuity  evinced  by  such  a 
variety  of  error  ;  but  she  did  not ;  it  fairly  put  her  in  a  passion. 
She  herself  was  not  only  clever  in  figures,  but  fond  of  them 
to  an  extraordinary  degree — luxuriated  in  Long  Division,  and 
reveled  in  the  Rule-of-Three.  Had  she  been  a  boy,  she  would 
probably  have  been  a  great  mathematician,  and  have  won  that 
fickle,  fleeting,  shadowy  wreath,  that  crown  made  of  the  rain- 
bow, that  vainest  of  all  earthly  pleasures,  but  which  yet  is  a 
pleasure — Fame. 

Happier,  far  happier  was  the  good,  the  lowly,  the  pious  child, 
in  her  humble  duties !  Grave  and  quiet  as  she  seemed,  she 
had  many  moments  of  intense  and  placid  enjoyment,  when  the 
duties  of  the  day  were  over,  and  she  sat  reading  in  the  porch, 
by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Allen,  or  walked  with  her  in  the  meadows 
on  a  Sunday  evening  after  church.  Jane  was  certainly  con- 
tented and  happy ;  and  yet  every  one  that  saw  her  thought  of 
her  with  that  kind  of  interest  which  is  akin  to  pity.  There 
was  a  pale,  fragile  grace  about  her,  such  as  we  sometimes  see  in 
a  rose  which  has  blown  in  the  shade ;  or  rather,  to  change  the 
simile,  the  drooping  and  delicate  look  of  a  tender  plant  re- 
moved from  a  hothouse  to  the  open  air.  We  could  not  help 
feeling  sure  (notwithstanding  our  mistake  with  regard  to  Mrs. 
Allen)  that  this  was  indeed  a  transplanted  flower ;  and  that  the 
village  school,  however  excellently  her  habits  had  become  in- 
ured to  her  situation,  was  not  her  proper  atmosphere. 

Several  circumstances  corroborated  our  suspicions.  My  lively 
young  friend  Sophia  Grey,  standing  with  me  one  day  at  the 
gate  of  the  schoolhouse,  where  I  had  been  talking  with  Mrs. 
Allen,  remarked  to  me,  in  French,  the  sly,  demure  vanity  with 
which  Susan  Wheeler,  whose  beauty  had  attracted  her  atten- 
tion, was  observing  and  returning  her  glances.  The  playful 
manner  in  which  Sophia  described  Susan's  "  regard  furtif," 
made  me  smile ;  and  looking  accidentally  at  Jane,  I  saw  that 
she  was  smiling  too,  clearly  comprehending  and  enjoying  the 
full  force  of  the  pleasantry.  She  must  understand  French; 


196  MARY  RUSSELL   MITFORD 

and  when  questioned,  she  confessed  she  did,  and  thankfully 
accepted  the  loan  of  books  in  that  language.  Another  time, 
being  sent  on  a  message  to  the  vicarage,  and  left  for  some 
minutes  alone  in  the  parlor,  with  a  piano  standing  open 
in  the  room,  she  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  touching 
the  keys,  and  was  discovered  playing  an  air  of  Mozart,  with 
great  taste  and  execution.  At  this  detection  she  blushed,  as 
if  caught  in  a  crime,  and  hurried  away  in  tears  and  without 
her  message.  It  was  clear  that  she  had  once  learned  music. 
But  the  surest  proof  that  Jane's  original  station  had  been  higher 
than  that  which  she  now  filled,  was  the  mixture  of  respect  and 
fondness  with  which  Mrs.  Allen  treated  her,  and  the  deep 
regret  she  sometimes  testified  at  seeing  her  employed  in  any 
menial  office. 

At  last,  elicited  by  some  warm  praise  of  the  charming  child, 
our  good  schoolmistress  disclosed  her  story.  Jane  Mowbray 
was  the  granddaughter  of  the  lady  in  whose  service  Mrs.  Allen 
had  passed  her  life.  Her  father  had  been  a  man  of  high  family 
and  splendid  fortune ;  had  married  beneath  himself,  as  it  was 
called,  a  friendless  orphan,  with  no  portion  but  beauty  and 
virtue ;  and,  on  her  death,  which  followed  shortly  on  the  birth 
of  her  daughter,  had  plunged  into  every  kind  of  vice  and 
extravagance.  What  need  to  tell  a  tale  of  sin  and  suffering? 

Mr.  Mowbray  had  ruined  himself,  had  ruined  all  belonging  to 
him,  and  finally  had  joined  our  armies  abroad  as  a  volunteer, 
and  had  fallen  undistinguished  in  his  first  battle.  The  news  of 
his  death  was  fatal  to  his  indulgent  mother;  and  when  she  too 
died,  Mrs.  Allen  blessed  the  Providence  which,  by  throwing  in 
her  way  a  recommendation  to  Lady  Lacy's  school,  had  enabled 
her  to  support  the  dear  object  of  her  mistress's  love  and  prayers. 
"  Had  Miss  Mowbray  no  connections  ?  "  was  the  natural  ques- 
tion. "  Yes ;  one  very  near — an  aunt,  the  sister  of  her  father, 
richly  married  in  India.  But  Sir  William  was  a  proud  and  a 
stern  man,  upright  in  his  own  conduct,  and  implacable  to  error. 
Lady  Ely  was  a  sweet,  gentle  creature,  and  doubtless  would  be 
glad  to  extend  a  mother's  protection  to  the  orphan;  but  Sir 


THE   VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  197 

William — oh!  he  was  so  unrelenting!  He  had  abjured  Mr. 
Mowbray,  and  all  connected  with  him.  She  had  written  to 
inform  them  where  the  dear  child  was,  but  had  no  expectation 
of  any  answer  from  India." 

Time  verified  this  prediction.  The  only  tidings  from  India, 
at  all  interesting  to  Jane  Mowbray,  were  contained  in  the  para- 
graph of  a  newspaper  which  announced  Lady  Ely's  death,  and 
put  an  end  to  all  hopes  of  protection  from  that  quarter.  Years 
passed  on,  and  found  her  still  with  Mrs.  Allen  at  Lady  Lacy's 
Green,  more  and  more  beloved  and  respected  from  day  to  day. 
She  had  now  attained  almost  to  womanhood.  Strangers,  I 
believe,  called  her  plain ;  we,  who  knew  her,  thought  her  pretty. 
Her  figure  was  tall  and  straight  as  a  cypress,  pliant  and  flex- 
ible as  a  willow,  full  of  gentle  grace,  whether  in  repose  or  in 
motion.  She  had  a  profusion  of  light  brown  hair,  a  pale  com- 
plexion, dark  gray  eyes,  a  smile  of  which  the  character  was 
rather  sweet  than  gay,  and  such  a  countenance !  no  one  could 
look  at  her  without  wishing  her  well,  or  without  being  sure 
that  she  deserved  all  good  wishes. 

Her  manners  were  modest  and  elegant,  and  she  had  much 
of  the  self-taught  knowledge  which  is,  of  all  knowledge,  the 
surest  and  the  best,  because  acquired  with  most  difficulty,  and 
fixed  in  the  memory  by  the  repetition  of  effort.  Every  one  had 
assisted  her  to  the  extent  of  his  power  and  of  her  willingness 
to  accept  assistance;  for  both  she  and  Mrs.  Allen  had  a  pride — 
call  it  independence — which  rendered  it  impossible,  even  to  the 
friends  who  were  most  honored  by  their  good  opinion,  to  be  as 
useful  to  them  as  they  could  have  wished.  To  give  Miss  Mow- 
bray time  for  improvement  had,  however,  proved  a  powerful 
emollient  to  the  pride  of  our  dear  schoolmistress ;  and  that  time 
had  been  so  well  employed  that  her  acquirements  were  consider- 
able ;  whilst  in  mind  and  character  she  was  truly  admirable ; 
mild,  grateful,  and  affectionate,  and  imbued  with  a  deep  relig- 
ious feeling,  which  influenced  every  action  and  pervaded  every 
thought.  So  gifted,  she  was  deemed  by  her  constant  friends,  the 
vicar  and  his  lady,  perfectly  competent  to  the  care  and  education 


198  MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

of  children ;  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  enter  a  neighboring 
family,  as  a  successor  to  their  then  governess,  early  in  the  ensu- 
ing spring ;  and  she,  although  sad  at  the  prospect  of  leaving 
her  aged  protectress,  acquiesced  in  their  decision. 

One  fine  Sunday  in  the  October  preceding  this  dreaded  separa- 
tion, as  Miss  Mowbray,  with  Mrs.  Allen  leaning  on  her  arm,  was 
slowly  following  the  little  train  of  Lady  Lacy's  scholars  from 
church,  an  elderly  gentleman,  sickly-looking  and  emaciated, 
accosted  a  pretty  young  woman,  who  was  loitering  with  some 
other  girls  at  the  church-yard  gate,  and  asked  her  several  ques- 
tions respecting  the  school  and  its  mistress.  Susan  Wheeler 
(for  it  happened  to  be  our  old  acquaintance)  was  delighted  to 
be  singled  out  by  so  grand  a  gentleman,  and  being  a  kind- 
hearted  creature  in  the  main,  spoke  of  the  schoolhouse  and  its 
inhabitants  exactly  as  they  deserved. 

"Mrs.  Allen,"  she  said,  "was  the  best  woman  in  the  world 
— the  very  best,  except  just  Miss  Mowbray,  who  was  better 
still, — only  too  particular  about  summing,  which  you  know, 
sir,"  added  Susan,  "  people  can't  learn  if  they  can't.  She  is 
going  to  be  a  governess  in  the  spring,"  continued  the  loqua- 
cious damsel ;  "  and  it's  to  be  hoped  the  little  ladies  will  take 
kindly  to  their  tables,  or  it  will  be  a  sad  grievance  to  Miss 
Jane." — "  A  governess !  Where  can  I  make  inquiries  concern- 
ing Miss  Mowbray?" — "At  the  vicarage,  sir,"  answered  Susan, 
dropping  her  little  courtesy,  and  turning  away,  well  pleased 
with  the  gentleman's  condescension,  and  with  half  a  crown 
which  he  had  given  her  in  return  for  her  intelligence.  The 
stranger,  meanwhile,  walked  straight  to  the  vicarage,  and  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  the  vicar  repaired  with  him  to  Lady 
Lacy's  Green. 

This  stranger,  so  drooping,  so  sickly,  so  emaciated,  was  the 
proud  Indian  uncle,  the  stern  Sir  William  Ely  !  Sickness  and 
death  had  been  busy  with  him  and  with  his.  He  had  lost  his 
health,  his  wife,  and  his  children ;  and  softened  by  affliction, 
was  returned  to  England  a  new  man,  anxious  to  forgive  and 
to  be  forgiven,  and,  above  all,  desirous  to  repair  his  neglect  and 


DR.    COURTLY'S  SCHOOL  199 

injustice  towards  the  only  remaining  relative  of  the  wife  whom 
he  had  so  fondly  loved  and  so  tenderly  lamented.  In  this 
frame  of  mind,  such  a  niece  as  Jane  Mowbray  was  welcomed 
with  no  common  joy.  His  delight  in  her,  and  his  gratitude 
towards  her  protectress,  were  unbounded.  He  wished  them  both 
to  accompany  him  home,  and  reside  with  him  constantly. 
Jane  promised  to  do  so ;  but  Mrs.  Allen,  with  her  usual  admi- 
rable feeling  of  propriety,  clung  to  the  spot  which  had  been  to 
her  a  "  city  of  refuge,"  and  refused  to  leave  it  in  spite  of  all 
the  entreaties  of  uncle  and  of  niece.  It  was  a  happy  decision 
for  Aberleigh ;  for  what  could  Aberleigh  have  done  without  its 
good  schoolmistress! 

She  lives  there  still,  its  ornament  and  its  pride ;  and  every 
year  Jane  Mowbray  comes  for  a  long  visit,  and  makes  a  holi- 
day in  the  school  and  in  the  whole  place.  Jane  Mowbray,  did 
I  say  ?  No !  not  Jane  Mowbray  now.  She  has  changed  that 
dear  name  for  the  only  name  that  could  be  dearer — she  is 
married — married  to  the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Lacy,  the  lineal  rep- 
resentative of  Dame  Eleanor  Lacy,  the  honored  foundress  of 
the  school.  It  was  in  a  voice  tremulous  more  from  feeling  than 
from  age,  that  Mrs.  Allen  welcomed  the  young  heir,  when  he 
brought  his  fair  bride  to  Aberleigh ;  and  it  was  with  a  yet 
stronger  and  deeper  emotion  that  the  bridegroom,  with  his  own 
Jane  in  his  hand,  visited  the  asylum  which  she  and  her  vener- 
able guardian  owed  to  the  benevolence  and  the  piety  of  his 
ancestress,  whose  good  deeds  had  thus  showered  down  blessings 
on  her  remote  posterity. 

Dr.  Courtly's   School 

(From  a  charade  in    "  Our  Village.") 

A  fashionable  Morning  Room. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Apperley  at  break- 
fast.— Mr.  Apperley  lays  down  the  newspaper 

MR.  APP.  Mrs.  Apperley,  my  dear,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on 
a  subject  on  which,  as  a  mother,  you  have  every  right  to  be 
consulted ;  the  more  especially  as,  from  your  excellent  sense,  I 


200  MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

have  no  doubt  of  your  being  entirely  of  my  opinion.  John 
grows  a  great  boy. 

MRS.  APP.  Poor  fellow!  Yes.  He'll  be  ten  years  old  the  fif- 
teenth of  next  month.  Time  slips  away,  Mr.  Apperley. 

MR.  APP.  Ten  years  old  next  month !  It's  high  time  that  he 
should  be  taken  from  Mr.  Lynn's.  These  preparatory  schools 
are  good  things  for  little  boys ;  but  a  lad  of  ten  years  old  re- 
quires to  be  more  tightly  kept. 

MRS.  APP.  Just  my  opinion,  Mr.  Apperley.  The  sooner  you 
remove  the  poor  boy  from  Mr.  Lynn's  the  better.  They  don't 
take  half  the  care  of  him  that  they  ought  to  do.  Only  yester- 
day, when  I  called  there,  I  found  him  playing  at  cricket  without 
his  hat — really  without  his  hat! — in  the  middle  of  that  wind, 
and  so  delicate  as  John  is  too! 

MR.  APP.  Delicate  !  Pshaw !  There  never  was  anything  the 
matter  with  the  child  but  your  coddling,  Mrs.  Apperley ;  and 
Eton  will  soon  cure  him  of  that. 

MRS.  APP.  Eton!     Do  you  mean  to  send  John  to  Eton? 

MR.  APP.  To  be  sure  I  do. 

MRS.  APP.  Our  sweet  John,  our  only  son,  our  only  child,  to  Eton? 

MR.  APP.  Certainly. 

MRS.  APP.  Never  with  my  consent,  I  promise  you,  Mr. 
Apperley. 

MR.  APP.  And  why  not,  Mrs.  Apperley  ? 

MRS.  APP.  Just  look  at  the  boys ;  that's  all.  Did  not  the 
Duchess  tell  me  herself  that  the  poor  little  Marquis  came  home 
with  only  one  skirt  to  his  jacket,  and  his  brother  Lord  Edward 
with  scarcely  a  shoe  to  his  foot  ?  There's  a  pretty  plight  for 
you,  Mr.  Apperley !  Think  of  our  John  with  his  toes  through 
his  shoes,  and  half  a  skirt  to  his  jacket ! 

MR.  APP.  Pshaw ! 

MRS.  APP.  Then  such  rude  graceless  pickles  as  they  come 
back,  with  their  manners  more  out  at  elbows  than  their  clothes. 

MR.  APP.  Pshaw! 

MRS.  APP.  Then  the  dangers  they  run! — to  be  killed  by  a 
cricket-ball,  or  drowned  in  the  Thames,  or 


DR.    COURTLY' S  SCHOOL  201 

MR.  APP.  Pshaw !  Mrs.  Apperley.  Where  now,  in  your  wis- 
dom, would  you  send  the  boy  ? 

MRS.  APP.  To  Dr.  Courtly. 

MR.  APP.  And  pray  who  is  Dr.  Courtly  ? 

MRS.  APP.  Did  you  never  hear  of  Dr.  Courtly's  establishment 
for  young  gentlemen? — never  hear  of  Dr.  Courtly! — So  elegant, 
so  comfortable,  taken  such  care  of;  linen  clean  twice  a  day; 
hair  curled  every  morning ;  almond  paste  to  wash  their  hands ; 
china  dinner-service;  silver  forks,  napkins,  and  finger-glasses. 
— Just  ten  miles  off,  only  fourteen  pupils,  and  happens  to  have 
a  vacancy.  Pray  send  John  to  Dr.  Courtly,  Mr.  Apperley. 

MR.  APP.  And  so  make  a  coxcomb  of  the  boy  before  his 
time !  Not  I,  truly.  Leave  the  hair-curling  and  the  almond- 
paste  to  the  instinct  of  eighteen.  In  the  meanwhile  I  choose 
that  he  should  learn  Latin  and  Greek ;  and  for  that  purpose  I 
shall  send  him  to  Eton. 

MRS.  APP.  Lord,  Mr.  Apperley !  what  is  a  man  the  better  for 
that  nonsense?  You  are  an  Etonian  yourself,  and  pray  tell 
me  now  what  good  has  your  scholarship  ever  done  you  ?  What 
use  have  you  made  of  it? 

MR.  APP.  Hem !  That's  a  point  which  ladies  can't  under- 
stand, and  had  better  not  talk  about,  Mrs.  Apperley ! 

MRS.  APP.  Have  you  ever,  during  the  eleven  years  that  we 
have  been  married,  read  a  single  page  of  Greek  or  Latin,  Mr. 
Apperley  ? 

MR.  APP.  Hem  !  Why,  really,  my  dear 

MRS.  APP.  Or  indeed  a  page  of  anything,  except  the  news- 
papers and  the  Waverley  novels  ? 

MR.  APP.  How  can  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Apperley ! 

MRS.  APP.  Why,  what  do  you  read  ? 

MR.  APP.  Hem!  The  Quarterly — I  generally  look  over  the 
Quarterly ;  and  Pepys — I  dipped  into  Pepys ;  and  the  maga- 
zines, Mrs.  Apperley  !  Don't  I  turn  over  the  magazines  as  regu- 
larly as  the  month  comes?  And,  in  short,  if  you  could  but 
imagine  the  Attic  zest,  the  classical  relish,  with  which  a  sound 
scholar but  this,  as  I  said  before,  is  what  you  ladies  can't 


202  MART  RUSSELL  MITFORD 

understand,  and  had  better  not  talk  about.     John  shall  go  to 
Eton ;  that's  my  determination. 

MRS.  APP.  He  shall  go  to  Dr.  Courtly's ;  that's  mine.  How 
can  you  be  so  barbarous,  Mr.  Apperley,  as  to  think  of  sending 
John  to  such  a  place  as  Eton,  subject  as  he  is  to  chilblains,  and 
the  winter  coming  on  ?  Now  the  Doctor  has  studied  surgery, 
and  dresses 

MR.  APP.  Hang  the  Doctor,  and  hang  John's  chilblains. 
The  boy  shall  go  to  Eton. — That's  my  last  word,  Mrs.  Apperley. 

MRS.  APP.  If  he  does,  he'll  be  dead  in  a  week.  But  he  shan't 
go  to  Eton — that's  my  resolution.  And  we  shall  see  who'll 
have  the  last  word,  Mr.  Apperley — we  shall  see ! 

[Exeunt  separately] 


CHARLOTTE     BRONT& 

1816-1855 

CHARLOTTE  BRONTE,  one  of  the  most  original  novelists  of  her  time, 
was  born  at  Thornton,  in  Yorkshire,  England,  in  1816.  When  but 
eight  years  old,  Charlotte  was  sent  with  three  of  her  sisters  to  a 
boarding-school.  Two  of  her  sisters  soon  died,  and  Charlotte  returned 
to  a  home  that  had  not  many  comforts ;  for  her  father  was  a  man  of 
eccentric  and  solitary  habits,  and  withal  very  poor.  But  the  sisters 
nobly  determined  to  exert  all  their  powers  to  make  themselves  and 
their  widowed  father  more  comfortable.  In  1843,  Charlotte  and 
Emily  went  to  Brussels,  to  qualify  themselves  for  teaching  foreign 
languages.  On  their  return,  they  advertised  that  they  would  receive 
pupils  in  the  parsonage,  but  none  came. 

The  three  sisters,  Charlotte,  Emily,  and  Anne,  then  ventured  to 
publish  a  volume  of  their  poems,  their  names  being  veiled  under  those 
of  Currer,  Ellis,  and  Acton  Bell.  This  choice  of  names  was  dictated, 
as  Charlotte  writes,  by  "a  sort  of  conscientious  scruple  at  assuming 
Christian  names  positively  masculine,"  while  they  did  not  like  to 
declare  themselves  women.  But  the  volume  had  little  success. 
Charlotte's  next  venture  was  a  prose  tale,  "The  Professor,"  which 
was  rejected  by  the  London  publishers;  but  the  rejection  was  sweet- 
ened by  the  encouragement  to  try  her  hand  at  another  book.  The 
fruit  of  this  advice  was  soon  beheld  in  "Jane  Eyre"  (1847),  a  work 
of  startling  interest  and  power,  which  at  once  made  the  author 
famous.  In  1849  she  published  "Shirley,"  and  in  1852,  "Villette," 
— the  last  work  of  this  woman  of  genius.  In  June, '1854,  she  was 
married  to  her  father's  curate,  Mr.  Nicholls,  but  died  in  the  following 
March,  in  her  thirty-ninth  year. 

Characterization 

The  story  of  the  Brontes  is  one  of  the  saddest  in  the  annals  of  litera- 
ture. They  were  the  children  of  a  father  who  was  both  cold  and  vio- 
lent, and  of  a  gentle,  sickly  mother,  early  lost.  They  were  reared 
amid  surroundings  the  most  gloomy  and  unhealthful,  and  cursed 
as  they  grew  older  with  a  brother  who  brought  them  shame  and 
sorrow  in  return  for  the  love  they  lavished  upon  him.  Their  very 
genius  seemed  a  product  of  disease,  and  often  their  finest  pages  are 

303 


204  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

marred  with  a  bitter  savor  of  its  origin.  In  treating  such  subjects 
these  three  quiet,  patient  daughters  of  a  country  parson  found  them- 
selves quite  at  home.  .  .  .  One  spring  they  were  all  taken  sick 
with  a  complication  of  measles  and  whooping-cough,  and  on  their 
recovery,  Mr.  Bronte  thought  a  change  of  air  desirable  for  the  elder 
ones.  In  July,  1824,  he  sent  Maria  and  Elizabeth  to  a  school  for  cler- 
gymen's daughters,  at  Cowan's  Bridge ;  in  September  they  were  joined 
by  Emily  and  Charlotte.  To  the  readers  of  Charlotte  Bronte  it  would 
be  superfluous  to  describe  this  school — the  "Lowood  "of  "Jane  Eyre." 
Its  miserable  diet,  unhealthy  situation,  long  lessons,  rigid  discipline, 
low  type  of  religion,  and  continual  sermons  upon  humility — nothing 
is  there  forgotten,  nor  is  anything  exaggerated.  Moreover,  the  de- 
scriptions of  both  teachers  and  pupils  are  most  of  them  portraits.  Miss 
Temple  and  Miss  Scatcherd  are  drawn  from  life;  and  the  pathetic 
figure  of  Helen  Burns  is  a  delineation  of  Maria  Bronte,  whose  death 
from  consumption  was  directly  due  to  the  hardships  she  underwent  at 
Cowan's  Bridge.  JAMES  PARTON. 

Lowood    School 

(From  "  Jane  Eyre  ") 

My  reflections  were  too  undefined  and  fragmentary  to  merit 
record ;  I  hardly  yet  knew  where  I  was ;  Gateshead  and  my 
past  life  seemed  floated  away  to  an  immeasurable  distance ;  the 
present  was  vague  and  strange,  and  of  the  future  I  could  form 
no  conjecture.  I  looked  round  the  convent-like  garden,  and 
then  up  at  the  house ;  a  large  building,  half  of  which  seemed 
gray  and  old,  the  other  half  quite  new.  The  new  part,  con- 
taining the  schoolroom  and  dormitory,  was  lit  by  mullioned 
and  latticed  windows,  which  gave  it  a  church-like  aspect ;  a 
stone  tablet  over  the  door  bore  this  inscription : 


LOWOOD  INSTITUTION. 

THIS  PORTION  WAS  REBUILT  A.  D. ,  BY  NAOMI  BROCKLEHURST 

OF  BROCKLEHURST  HALL,  IN  THIS  COUNTY. 

"Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your 
good  works,  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 

— ST.  MATT.  v.  16. 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  205 

I  read  these  words  over  and  over  again  ;  I  felt  that  an  expla- 
nation belonged  to  them,  and  was  unable  fully  to  penetrate 
their  import.  I  was  still  pondering  the  signification  of  "  Insti- 
tution," and  endeavoring  to  make  out  a  connection  between  the 
first  words  and  the  verse  of  Scripture,  when  the  sound  of  a 
cough  close  behind  me  made  me  turn  my  head.  I  saw  a  girl 
sitting  on  a  stone  bench  near ;  she  was  bent  over  a  book,  on  the 
perusal  of  which  she  seemed  intent ;  and  from  where  I  stood  I 
could  see  the  title — it  was  "  Rasselas ; "  a  name  that  struck  me 
as  strange,  and  consequently  attractive.  In  turning  a  leaf,  she 
happened  to  look  up,  and  I  said  to  her  directly,  "  Is  your  book 
interesting  ?  "  I  had  already  formed  the  intention  of  asking 
her  to  lend  it  to  me  some  day. 

"  I  like  it,"  she  answered,  after  a  pause  of  a  second  or  two, 
during  which  she  examined  me. 

"  What  is  it  about  ?  "  I  continued.  I  hardly  know  where  I 
found  the  hardihood  thus  to  open  a  conversation  with  a  stran- 
ger; the  step  was  contrary  to  my  nature  and  habits;  but  I 
think  her  occupation  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy  somewhere ; 
for  I,  too,  liked  reading,  though  of  a  frivolous  and  childish 
kind ;  I  could  not  digest  or  comprehend  the  serious  or  sub- 
stantial. 

"  You  may  look  at  it,"  replied  the  girl,  offering  me  the  book. 

I  did  so  ;  a  brief  examination  convinced  me  that  the  contents 
were  less  taking  than  the  title :  "  Rasselas  "  looked  dull  to  my 
trifling  taste ;  I  saw  nothing  about  fairies,  nothing  about  genii ; 
no  bright  variety  seemed  spread  over  the  closely-printed  pages. 
I  returned  it  to  her ;  she  received  it  quietly,  and  without  saying 
anything  she  was  about  to  relapse  into  her  former  studious 
mood ;  again  I  ventured  to  disturb  her :  "  Can  you  tell  me 
what  the  writing  on  that  stone  over  that  door  means  ?  What 
is  Lowood  Institution  ?  " 

"  This  house  where  you  are  come  to  live." 

"  And  why  do  they  call  it  Institution  ?  Is  it  in  any  way  dif- 
ferent from  other  schools  ?  " 

"  It  is  partly  a  charity-school :  you  and  I,  and  all  the  rest  of 


206  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

us,  are  charity-children.  I  suppose  you  are  an  orphan :  are  not 
either  your  father  or  your  mother  dead?  " 

"  Both  died  before  I  can  remember." 

"  Well,  all  the  girls  here  have  lost  either  one  or  both  parents, 
and  this  is  called  an  institution  for  educating  orphans." 

"  Do  we  pay  no  money  ?     Do  they  keep  us  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  We  pay,  or  our  friends  pay,  fifteen  pounds  a  year  for  each." 

"  Then  why  do  they  call  us  charity-children  ?  " 

"  Because  fifteen  pounds  is  not  enough  for  board  and  teach- 
ing, and  the  deficiency  is  supplied  by  subscription." 

"  Who  subscribes  ?  " 

"  Different  benevolent-minded  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  this 
neighborhood  and  in  London." 

"  Who  was  Naomi  Brocklehurst  ?  " 

"The  lady  who  built  the  new  part  of  this  house  as  that 
tablet  records,  and  whose  son  overlooks  and  directs  everything 
here." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  treasurer  and  manager  of  the  establishment." 

"  Then  this  house  does  not  belong  to  that  tall  lady  who  wears 
a  watch,  and  who  said  we  were  to  have  some  bread  .and  cheese." 

"  To  Miss  Temple  ?  Oh  no  !  I  wish  it  did  ;  she  has  to  an- 
swer to  Mr.  Brocklehurst  for  all  she  does.  Mr.  Brocklehurst 
buys  all  our  food  and  all  our  clothes." 

"  Does  he  live  here  ?  " 

"  No — two  miles  off,  at  a  large  hall." 

"  Is  he  a  good  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  clergyman,  and  is  said  to  do  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  Did  you  say  that  tall  lady  was  called  Miss  Temple  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  what  are  the  other  teachers  called  ?  " 

"  The  one  with  the  red  cheeks  is  called  Miss  Smith ;  she 
attends  to  the  work,  and  cuts  out — for  we  make  our  own  clothes, 
our  frocks,  and  pelisses,  and  everything;  the  little  one  with 
black  hair  is  Miss  Scatcherd ;  she  teaches  history  and  gram- 
mar, and  hears  the  second-class  repetitions ;  and  the  one  who 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  207 

wears  a  shawl,  and  has  a  pocket-handkerchief  tied  to  her  side 
with  a  yellow  ribbon,  is  Madame  Pierrot ;  she  comes  from  Lisle, 
in  France,  and  teaches  French." 

"  Do  you  like  the  teachers  ?  " 

"Well  enough." 

"  Do  you  like  the  little  black  one,  and  the  Madame ?  I 

cannot  pronounce  her  name  as  you  do." 

"  Miss  Scatcherd  is  hasty — you  must  take  care  not  to  offend 
her ;  Madame  Pierrot  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  person." 

"  But  Miss  Temple  is  the  best— isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Miss  Temple  is  very  good,  and  very  clever  ;  she  is  above  the 
rest,  because  she  knows  far  more  than  they  do." 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?  " 

"  Two  years." 

"  Are  you  an  orphan  ?  " 

"  My  mother  is  dead." 

"  Are  you  happy  here  ?  " 

"You  ask  rather  too  many  questions.  I  have  given  you 
answers  enough  for  the  present ;  now  I  want  to  read." 

But  at  the  moment  the  summons  sounded  for  dinner;  all 
reentered  the  house.  The  odor  which  now  filled  the  refectory 
was  scarcely  more  appetizing  than  that  which  had  regaled  our 
nostrils  at  breakfast ;  the  dinner  was  served  in  two  huge  tin- 
plated  vessels,  whence  rose  a  strong  steam  redolent  of  rancid 
fat.  I  found  the  mess  to  consist  of  indifferent  potatoes  and 
strange  shreds  of  rusty  meat,  mixed  and  cooked  together.  Of 
this  preparation  a  tolerably  abundant  plateful  was  apportioned 
to  each  pupil.  I  ate  what  I  could,  and  wondered  within  myself 
whether  every  day's  fare  would  be  like  this. 

After  dinner,  we  immediately  adjourned  to  the  schoolroom ; 
lessons  recommenced,  and  were  continued  till  five  o'clock. 

The  only  marked  event  of  the  afternoon  was,  that  I  saw  the 
girl  with  whom  I  had  conversed  in  the  veranda  dismissed  in 
disgrace  by  Miss  Scatcherd  from  a .  history  class,  and  sent  to 
stand  in  the  middle  of  the  large  schoolroom.  The  punishment 
seemed  to  me  in  a  high  degree  ignominious,  especially  for  so 


208  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

great  a  girl — she  looked  thirteen  or  upward.  I  expected  she 
would  show  signs  of  great  distress  and  shame ;  but  to  my  sur- 
prise she  neither  wept  nor  blushed :  composed,  though  grave, 
she  stood  the  central  mark  of  all  eyes.  "  How  can  she  bear  it 
so  quietly — so  firmly  ?  "  I  asked  of  myself.  "  Were  I  in  her 
place,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  wish  the  earth  to  open  and 
swallow  me  up.  She  looks  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  some- 
thing beyond  her  punishment — beyond  her  situation  :  of  some- 
thing not  round  her  or  before  her.  I  have  heard  of  day- 
dreams— is  she  in  a  day-dream  now  ?  Her  eyes  are  fixed  on 
the  floor,  but  I  am  sure  they  do  not  see  it — her  sight  seems 
turned  in,  gone  down  into  her  heart :  she  is  looking  at  what 
she  can  remember,  I  believe,  not  at  what  is  really  present.  I 
wonder  what  sort  of  a  girl  she  is — whether  good  or  naughty  ?  " 

Soon  after  five  P.  M.  we  had  another  meal,  consisting  of  a 
small  mug  of  coffee,  and  half  a  slice  of  brown  bread.  I 
devoured  my  bread  and  drank  my  coffee  with  relish ;  but 
I  should  have  been  glad  of  as  much  more — I  was  still  hungry. 
Half  an  hour's  recreation  succeeded,  then  study ;  then  the  glass 
of  water  and  the  piece  of  oat-cake,  prayers  and  bed.  Such  was 
my  first  day  at  Lowood. 

The  next  day  commenced  as  before,  getting  up  and  dressing 
by  rush  light;  but  this  morning  we  were  obliged  to  dispense 
with  the  ceremony  of  washing:  the  water  in  the  pitchers  was 
frozen.  A  change  had  taken  place  in  the  weather  the  preced- 
ing evening,  and  a  keen  northeast  wind,  whistling  through  the 
crevices  of  our  bedroom  windows  all  night  long,  had  made  us 
shiver  in  our  bed,  and  turned  the  contents  of  the  ewers  to  ice. 

Before  the  long  hour  and  a  half  of  prayers  and  Bible  reading 
was  over,  I  felt  ready  to  perish  with  cold.  Breakfast-time  came 
at  last,  and  this  morning  the  porridge  was  not  burned ;  the 
quality  was  eatable,  the  quantity  small ;  how  small  my  portion 
seemed  !  I  wished  it  had  been  doubled. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  I  was  enrolled  a  member  of  the 
fourth  class,  and  regular  tasks  and  occupations  were  assigned 
me ;  hitherto  I  had  only  been  a  spectator  of  the  proceedings  at 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  209 

Lowood,  I  was  now  to  become  an  actor  therein.  At  first,  being 
little  accustomed  to  learn  by  heart,  the  lessons  appeared  to  me 
both  long  and  difficult:  the  frequent  change  from  task  to  task, 
too,  bewildered  me ;  and  I  was  glad  when,  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  Miss  Smith  put  into  my  hands  a  border  of 
muslin  two  yards  long,  together  with  needle,  thimble,  etc.,  and 
sent  me  to  sit  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  schoolroom,  with  direc- 
tions to  hem  the  same.  At  that  hour  most  of  the  others  were 
sewing  likewise ;  but  one  class  still  stood  round  Miss  Scatcherd's 
chair  reading,  and  as  all  was  quiet,  the  subject  of  their  lessons 
could  be  heard,  together  with  the  manner  in  which  each  girl 
acquitted  herself,  and  the  animadversions  or  commendations  of 
Miss  Scatcherd  on  the  performance.  It  was  English  history : 
among  the  readers  I  observed  my  acquaintance  of  the  veranda: 
at  the  commencement  of  the  lesson,  her  place  had  been  at  the 
top  of  the  class,  but  for  some  error  of  pronunciation  or  some 
inattention  to  stops,  she  was  suddenly  sent  to  the  very  bottom. 
Even  in  that  obscure  position,  Miss  Scatcherd  continued  to  make 
her  an  object  of  constant  notice :  she  was  continually  address- 
ing to  her  such  phrases  as  the  following : 

"  Burns  "  (such,  it  seems,  was  her  name :  the  girls  here  were 
called  by  their  surnames,  as  boys  are  elsewhere),  "  Burns,  you  are 
standing  on  the  side  of  your  shoe,  turn  your  toes  out  immedi- 
ately." "  Burns,  you  poke  your  chin  most  unpleasantly  ;  draw 
it  in."  "  Burns,  I  insist  on  your  holding  your  head  up ;  I  will 
not  have  you  before  me  in  that  attitude,"  etc.,  etc. 

A  chapter  having  been  read  through  twice,  the  books  were 
closed  and  the  girls  examined.  The  lesson  had  comprised  part 
of  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  and  there  were  sundry  questions 
about  tonnage  and  poundage  and  ship-money,  which  most  of 
them  appeared  unable  to  answer;  still,  every  little  difficulty 
was  solved  instantly  when  it  reached  Burns;  her  memory 
seemed  to  have  retained  the  substance  of  the  whole  lesson,  and 
she  was  ready  with  answers  on  every  point.  I  kept  expecting 
that  Miss  Scatcherd  would  praise  her  attention ;  but,  instead  of 
that,  she  suddenly  called  out: 
s.  M.— 14 


210  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

"  You  dirty,  disagreeable  girl !  you  have  never  cleaned  your 
nails  this  morning !  " 

Burns  made  no  answer ;  I  wondered  at  her  silence. 

"  Why,"  thought  I,  "  does  she  not  explain  that  she  could 
neither  clean  her  nails  nor  wash  her  face,  as  the  water  was 
frozen?  " 

My  attention  was  now  called  off  by  Miss  Smith  desiring  me 
to  hold  a  skein  of  thread  :  while  she  was  winding  it,  she  talked 
with  me  from  time  to  time,  asking  whether  I  had  ever  been  at 
school  before,  whether  I  could  mark,  stitch,  knit,  etc. ;  till  she 
dismissed  me,  I  could  not  pursue  my  observations  on  Miss 
Scatcherd's  movements.  When  I  returned  to  my  seat,  that  lady 
was  just  delivering  an  order,  of  which  I  did  not  catch  the 
import ;  but  Burns  immediately  left  the  class,  and,  going  into 
the  small  inner  room  where  the  books  were  kept,  returned  in 
half  a  minute,  carrying  in  her  hand  a  bundle  of  twigs  tied 
together  at  one  end.  This  ominous  tool  she  presented  to  Miss 
Scatcherd  with  a  respectful  courtesy ;  then  she  quietly,  and 
without  being  told,  unloosed  her  pinafore,  and  the  teacher 
instantly  and  sharply  inflicted  on  her  neck  a  dozen  strokes  with 
the  bunch  of  twigs.  Not  a  tear  rose  to  Burns'  eye ;  and  while  I 
paused  from  my  sewing,  because  my  fingers  quivered  at  this 
spectacle  with  a  sentiment  of  unavailing  and  impotent  anger, 
not  a  feature  of  her  pensive  face  altered  its  ordinary  expression. 

"  Hardened  girl !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Scatcherd  ;  "  nothing  can 
correct  you  of  your  slatternly  habits :  carry  the  rod  away." 

Burns  obeyed :  I  looked  at  her  narrowly  as  she  emerged  from 
the  book-closet;  she  was  just  putting  back  her  handkerchief 
into  her  pocket,  and  the  trace  of  a  tear  glistened  on  her  thin 
cheek. 

My  first  quarter  at  Lowood  seemed  an  age;  and  not  the 
golden  age  either  :  it  comprised  an  irksome  struggle  with  diffi- 
culties in  habituating  myself  to  new  rules  and  unwonted  tasks. 
The  fear  of  failure  in  these  points  harassed  me  worse  than  the 
physical  hardships  of  my  lot ;  though  these  were  no  trifles. 


LOWOOD   SCHOOL  211 

During  January,  February,  and  part  of  March,  the  deep 
snows,  and,  after  their  melting,  the  almost  impassable  roads, 
prevented  our  stirring  beyond  the  garden  walls,  except  to  go  to 
church  ;  but  within  these  limits  we  had  to  pass  an  hour  every 
day  in  the  open  air.  Our  clothing  was  insufficient  to  protect 
us  from  the  severe  cold ;  we  had  no  boots ;  the  snow  got  into 
our  shoes,  and  melted  there;  our  ungloved  hands  became 
numbed  and  covered  with  chilblains,  as  were  our  feet ;  I 
remember  well  the  distracting  irritation  I  endured  from  this 
cause  every  evening,  when  my  feet  inflamed ;  and  the  torture 
of  thrusting  the  swelled,  raw,  and  stiff  toes  into  my  shoes  in  the 
morning.  Then  the  scanty  supply  of  food  was  distressing. 
With  the  keen  appetites  of  growing  children,  we  had  scarcely 
sufficient  to  keep  alive  a  delicate  invalid.  From  this  deficiency 
of  nourishment  resulted  an  abuse,  which  pressed  hardly  on  the 
younger  pupils:  whenever  the  famished  great  girls  had  an 
opportunity  they  would  coax  or  menace  the  little  ones  out  of 
their  portion.  Many  a  time  I  have  shared  between  two  claim- 
ants the  precious  morsel  of  brown  bread  distributed  at  tea-time ; 
and  after  relinquishing  to  a  third  half  the  contents  of  my  mug 
of  coffee,  I  have  swallowed  the  remainder  with  an  accompani- 
ment of  secret  tears  forced  from  me  by  the  exigency  of  hunger. 

Sundays  were  dreary  days  in  that  wintry  season.  We  had 
to  walk  two  miles  to  Brocklebridge  Church,  where  our  patron 
officiated.  We  set  out  cold,  we  arrived  at  church  colder :  during 
the  morning  service  we  became  almost  paralyzed.  It  was  too 
far  to  return  to  dinner,  and  an  allowance  of  cold  meat  and 
bread,  in  the  same  penurious  proportion  observed  in  our  ordi- 
nary meals,  was  served  round  between  the  services. 

At  the  close  of  the  afternoon  service  we  returned  by  an 
exposed  and  hilly  road,  where  the  bitter  winter  wind,  blowing 
over  a  range  of  snowy  summits  to  the  north,  almost  flayed  the 
skin  from  our  faces. 

I  can  remember  Miss  Temple  walking  lightly  and  rapidly 
along  our  drooping  line,  her  plaid  cloak,  which  the  frosty  wind 
fluttered,  gathered  close  about  her,  and  encouraging  us,  by  pre- 


212  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

cept  and  example,  to  keep  up  our  spirits,  and  march  forward,  as 
she  said,  "like  stalwart  soldiers."  The  other  teachers,  poor 
things,  were  generally  themselves  too  much  dejected  to  attempt 
the  task  of  cheering  others. 

How  we  longed  for  the  light  and  heat  of  a  blazing  fire  when 
we  got  back !  But  to  the  little  ones  at  least,  this  was  denied  : 
each  hearth  in  the  schoolroom  was  immediately  surrounded  by 
a  double  row  of  great  girls,  and  behind  them  the  younger  chil- 
dren crouched  in  groups,  wrapping  their  starved  arms  in  their 
pinafores. 

A  little  solace  came  at  tea-time,  in  the  shape  of  a  double 
ration  of  bread — a  whole,  instead  of  a  half,  slice — with  the  deli- 
cious addition  of  a  thin  scrape  of  butter :  it  was  the  hebdom- 
adal treat  to  which  we  all  looked  forward  from  Sabbath  to 
Sabbath.  I  generally  contrived  to  reserve  a  moiety  of  this 
bounteous  repast  for  myself;  but  the  remainder  I  was  invaria- 
bly obliged  to  part  with. 

The  Sunday  evening  was  spent  in  repeating,  by  heart,  the 
Church  Catechism,  and  the  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh  chapters  of 
St.  Matthew;  and  in  listening  to  a  long  sermon,  read  by  Miss 
Miller,  whose  irrepressible  yawns  attested  her  weariness.  A  fre- 
quent interlude  of  these  performances  was  the  enactment  of  the 
part  of  Eutychus  by  some  half  dozen  little  girls,  who,  overpow- 
ered with  sleep,  would  fall  down,  if  not  out  of  the  third  loft,  yet 
off  the  fourth  form,  and  be  taken  up  half  dead.  The  remedy 
was,  to  thrust  them  forward  into  the  center  of  the  schoolroom, 
and  oblige  them  to  stand  there  till  the  sermon  was  finished. 
Sometimes  their  feet  failed  them,  and  they  sank  together  in  a 
heap;  they  were  then  propped  up  with  the  monitors'  high 
stools. 

I  have  not  yet  alluded  to  the  visits  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst ; 
and  indeed  that  gentleman  was  from  home  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  first  month  after  my  arrival ;  perhaps  prolonging 
his  stay  with  his  friend  the  archdeacon ;  his  absence  was  a 
relief  to  me.  I  need  not  say  that  I  had  my  own  reasons  for 
dreading  his  coming :  but  come  he  did  at  last. 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  213 

One  afternoon  (I  had  then  been  three  weeks  at  Lowood),  as  I 
was  sitting  with  a  slate  in  my  hand,  puzzling  over  a  sum  in 
long  division,  my  eyes,  raised  in  abstraction  to  the  window, 
caught  sight  of  a  figure  just  passing;  I  recognized  almost 
instinctively  that  gaunt  outline;  and  when  two  minutes  after, 
all  the  school,  teachers  included,  rose  en  masse,  it  was  not 
necessary  for  me  to  look  up  in  order  to  ascertain  whose  entrance 
they  thus  greeted.  A  long  stride  measured  the  schoolroom, 
and  presently  beside  Miss  Temple,  who  herself  had  risen,  stood 
the  same  black  column  which  had  frowned  on  me  so  ominously 
from  the  hearth-rug  at  Gateshead.  I  now  glanced  sideways  at 
this  piece  of  architecture.  Yes,  I  was  right ;  it  was  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst,  buttoned  up  in  a  surtout,  and  looking  longer,  narrower, 
and  more  rigid  than  ever. 

I  had  my  own  reasons  for  being  dismayed  at  this  apparition ; 
too  well  I  remembered  the  perfidious  hints  given  by  Mrs.  Reed 
about  my  disposition,  etc. ;  the  promise  pledged  by  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst  to  apprise  Miss  Temple  and  the  teachers  of  my  vicious 
nature.  All  along  I  had  been  dreading  the  fulfillment  of  this 
promise — I  had  been  looking  out  daily  for  the  "  coming  man," 
whose  information  respecting  my  past  life  and  conversation 
was  to  brand  me  as  a  bad  child  forever ;  now  there  he  was.  He 
stood  at  Miss  Temple's  side ;  he  was  speaking  low  in  her  ear ; 
I  did  not  doubt  he  was  making  disclosures  of  my  villainy ; 
and  I  watched  her  eye  with  painful  anxiety,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  its  dark  orb  turn  on  me  a  glance  of  repugnance 
and  contempt.  I  listened,  too ;  and  as  I  happened  to  be  seated 
quite  at  the  top  of  the  room,  I  caught  most  of  what  he  said ;  its 
import  relieved  me  from  immediate  apprehension. 

"I  suppose,  Miss  Temple,  the  thread  I  bought  at  Lowton  will 
do ;  it  struck  me  that  it  would  be  just  of  the  quality  for  the 
calico  chemise,  and  I  sorted  the  needles  to  match.  You  may 
tell  Miss  Smith  that  I  forgot  to  make  a  memorandum  of  the 
darning-needles,  but  she  shall  have  some  papers  sent  in  next 
week,  and  she  is  not,  on  any  account,  to  give  out  more  than  one 
at  a  time  to  each  pupil :  if  they  have  more,  they  are  apt  to  be 


214  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

careless  and  lose  them.  And  oh,  ma'am !  I  wish  the  woolen 
stockings  were  better  looked  to ! — when  I  was  here  last,  I  went 
into  the  kitchen-garden  and  examined  the  clothes  drying  on 
the  line ;  there  was  a  quantity  of  black  hose  in  a  very  bad  state 
of  repair :  from  the  size  of  the  holes  in  them  I  was  sure  they 
had  not  been  well  mended  from  time  to  time." 

He  paused. 

"  Your  directions  shall  be  attended  to,  sir,"  said  Miss  Temple. 

"  And,  ma'am,"  he  continued,  "  the  laundress  tells  me  some 
of  the  girls  have  two  clean  tuckers  in  the  week :  it  is  too  much ; 
the  rules  limit  them  to  one." 

"  I  think  I  can  explain  that  circumstance,  sir.  Agnes  and 
Catharine  Johnstone  were  invited  to  take  tea  with  some  friends 
at  Lowton  last  Thursday,  and  I  gave  them  leave  to  put  on 
clean  tuckers  for  the  occasion." 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  nodded. 

"  Well,  for  once  it  may  pass ;  but  please  not  to  let  the  circum- 
stance occur  too  often.  And  there  is  another  thing  which  sur- 
prised me:  I  find,  in  settling  accounts  with  the  housekeeper, 
that  a  lunch,  consisting  of  bread  and  cheese,  has  twice  been 
served  out  to  the  girls  during  the  past  fortnight.  How  is  this  ? 
I  look  over  the  regulations,  and  I  find  no  such  meal  as  lunch 
mentioned.  Who  introduced  this  innovation?  and  by  what 
authority  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  responsible  for  the  circumstance,  sir,"  replied 
Miss  Temple :  "  the  breakfast  was  so  ill-prepared  that  the  pupils 
could  not  possibly  eat  it ;  and  I  dared  not  allow  them  to  remain 
fasting  till  dinner-time." 

"  Madam,  allow  me  an  instant.  You  are  aware  that  my  plan 
in  bringing  up  these  girls  is,  not  to  accustom  them  to  habits  of 
luxury  and  indulgence,  but  to  render  them  hardy,  patient,  self- 
denying.  Should  any  little  accidental  disappointment  of  the 
appetite  occur,  such  as  the  spoiling  of  a  meal,  the  under  or  the 
over  dressing  of  a  dish,  the  incident  ought  not  to  be  neutralized 
by  replacing  with  something  more  delicate  the  comfort  lost, 
thus  pampering  the  body  and  obviating  the  aim  of  this  institu- 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  215 

tion ;  it  ought  to  be  improved  to  the  spiritual  edification  of  the 
pupils,  by  encouraging  them  to  evince  fortitude  under  the  tem- 
porary privation.  A  brief  address  on  those  occasions  would  not 
be  mistimed,  wherein  a  judicious  instructor  would  take  the 
opportunity  of  referring  to  the  sufferings  of  the  primitive  Chris- 
tians; to  the  torments  of  martyrs;  to  the  exhortations  of  our 
blessed  Lord  himself,  calling  upon  his  disciples  to  take  up  their 
cross  and  follow  him ;  to  his  warnings  that  man  shall  not  live 
by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the 
mouth  of  God ;  to  his  divine  consolations,  '  If  ye  suffer  hunger 
or  thirst  for  my  sake,  happy  are  ye.'  Oh,  madam,  when  you 
put  bread  and  cheese,  instead  of  burned  porridge,  into  these 
children's  mouths,  you  may  indeed  feed  their  vile  bodies,  but 
you  little  think  how  you  starve  their  immortal  souls ! " 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  again  paused — perhaps  overcome  by  his 
feelings.  Miss  Temple  had  looked  down  when  he  first  began 
to  speak  to  her ;  but  she  now  gazed  straight  before  her,  and  her 
face,  naturally  pale  as  marble,  appeared  to  be  assuming  also 
the  coldness  and  fixity  of  that  material ;  especially  her  mouth 
closed  as  if  it  would  have  required  a  sculptor's  chisel  to  open  it, 
and  her  brow  settled  gradually  into  petrified  severity. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  standing  on  the  hearth  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  majestically  surveyed  the  whole  school. 
Suddenly  his  eye  gave  a  blink,  as  if  it  had  met  something  that 
either  dazzled  or  shocked  its  pupil ;  turning,  he  said  in  more 
rapid  accents  than  he  had  hitherto  used :  "  Miss  Temple,  Miss 
Temple,  what — what  is  that  girl  with  curled  hair?  Red 
hair,  ma'am,  curled — curled  all  over  ?  "  And  extending  his 
cane  he  pointed  to  the  awful  object,  his  hand  shaking  as  he 
did  so. 

"  It  is  Julia  Severn,"  replied  Miss  Temple,  very  quietly. 

"  Julia  Severn,  ma'am !  And  why  has  she,  or  any  other, 
curled  hair  ?  Why,  in  defiance  of  every  precept  and  principle 
of  this  house,  does  she  conform  to  the  world  so  openly — here  'in 
an  evangelical,  charitable  establishment — as  to  wear  her  hair 
one  mass  of  curls?  " 


216  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

"  Julia's  nair  curls  naturally,"  returned  Miss  Temple,  still 
more  quietly. 

"  Naturally !  Yes,  but  we  are  not  to  conform  to  nature :  I 
wish  these  girls  to  be  the  children  of  Grace:  and  why  that 
abundance  ?  I  have  again  and  again  intimated  that  I  desire 
the  hair  to  be  arranged  closely,  modestly,  plainly.  Miss  Tem- 
ple, that  girl's  hair  must  be  cut  off  entirely ;  I  will  send  a  bar- 
ber to-morrow :  and  I  see  others  who  have  far  too  much  of  the 
excrescence — that  tall  girl,  tell  her  to  turn  round.  Tell  all  the 
first  form  to  rise  up  and  direct  their  faces  to  the  wall." 

Miss  Temple  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  lips,  as  if  to 
smooth  away  the  involuntary  smiles  that  curled  them ;  she 
gave  the  order,  however,  and  when  the  first  class  could  take  in 
what  was  required  of  them,  they  obeyed.  Leaning  a  little  back 
on  my  bench  I  could  see  the  looks  and  grimaces  with  which 
they  commented  on  this  maneuver :  it  was  a  pity  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst  could  not  see  them  too ;  he  would  perhaps  have  felt  that 
whatever  he  might  do  with  the  outside  of  the  cup  and  platter, 
the  inside  was  further  beyond  his  interference  than  he  imagined. 

He  scrutinized  the  reverse  of  these  living  medals  some  five 
minutes,  then  pronounced  sentence.  These  words  fell  like  the 
knell  of  doom  :  "  All  those  top-knots  must  be  cut  off." 

Miss  Temple  seemed  to  remonstrate. 

"  Madam,"  he  pursued,  "  I  have  a  Master  to  serve  whose 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  world :  my  mission  is  to  mortify  in  these 
girls  the  lusts  of  the  flesh  ;  to  teach  them  to  clothe  themselves 
with  shamefacedness  and  sobriety,  not  with  braided  hair  and 
costly  apparel ;  and  each  of  the  young  persons  before  us  has  a 
string  of  hair  twisted  in  plaits  which  vanity  itself  might  have 
woven:  these,  I  repeat,  must  be  cut  off ;  think  of  the  time  wrasted, 
of " 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  was  here  interrupted :  three  other  visitors, 
ladies,  now  entered  the  room.  They  ought  to  have  come  a  little 
sooner  to  have  heard  his  lecture  on  dress,  for  they  were  splen- 
didly attired  in  velvet,  silk,  and  furs.  The  two  younger  of  the 
trio  (fine  girls  of  sixteen  and  seventeen)  had  gray  beaver  hats, 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  217 

then  in  fashion,  shaded  with  ostrich  plumes,  and  from  under 
the  brim  of  this  graceful  head-dress  fell  a  profusion  of  light 
tresses,  elaborately  curled ;  the  elder  lady  was  enveloped  in  a 
costly  velvet  shawl,  trimmed  with  ermine,  and  she  wore  a  false 
front  of  French  curls. 

These  ladies  were  deferentially  received  by  Miss  Temple,  as 
Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Brocklehurst,  and  conducted  to  seats  of 
honor  at  the  top  of  the  room.  It  seems  they  had  come  in  the 
carriage  with  their  reverend  relative,  and  had  been  conducting 
a  rummaging  scrutiny  of  the  rooms  up-stairs,  while  he  trans- 
acted business  with  the  housekeeper,  questioned  the  laundress, 
and  lectured  the  superintendent.  They  now  proceeded  to  ad- 
dress divers  remarks  and  reproofs  to  Miss  Smith,  who  was 
charged  with  the  care  of  the  linen  and  the  inspection  of  the 
dormitories ;  but  I  had  no  time  to  listen  to  what  they  said ; 
other  matters  called  off  and  enchained  my  attention. 

Hitherto,  while  gathering  up  the  discourse  of  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst and  Miss  Temple,  I  had  not  at  the  same  time  neglected 
precautions  to  secure  my  personal  safety ;  which  I  thought  would 
be  effected,  if  I  could  only  elude  observation.  To  this  end,  I 
had  sat  well  back  on  the  form,  and  while  seeming  to  be  busy 
with  my  sum,  had  held  my  slate  in  such  a  manner  as  to  con- 
ceal my  face :  I  might  have  escaped  notice,  had  not  my  treach- 
erous slate  somehow  happened  to  slip  from  my  hand,  and  fall- 
ing with  an  obtrusive  crash,  directly  drawn  every  eye  upon  me ; 
I  knew  it  was  all  over  now,  and,  as  I  stooped  to  pick  up  the  two 
fragments  of  slate,  I  rallied  my  forces  for  the  worst.  It  came. 

"  A  careless  girl ! "  said  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  and  immediately 
after — "  It  is  the  new  pupil,  I  perceive."  And  before  I  could 
draw  breath,  "  I  must  not  forget  I  have  a  word  to  say  respect- 
ing her."  Then  aloud — how  loud  it  seemed  to  me !  "  Let  the 
child  who  broke  her  slate  come  forward !  " 

Of  my  own  accord  I  could  not  have  stirred :  I  was  paralyzed : 
but  the  two  great  girls  who  sat  on  each  side  of  me  set  me  on 
my  legs  and  pushed  me  towards  the  dread  judge,  and  then  Miss 
Temple  gently  assisted  me  to  his  very  feet,  and  I  caught  her 


218  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

whispered  counsel,  "  Don't  be  afraid,  Jane,  I  saw  it  was  an  acci- 
dent ;  you  shall  not  be  punished." 

The  kind  whisper  went  to  my  heart  like  a  dagger. 

"  Another  minute,  and  she  will  despise  me  for  a  hypocrite," 
thought  I,  and  an  impulse  of  fury  against  Reed,  Brocklehurst 
and  Co.  bounded  in  my  pulses  at  the  conviction.  I  was  no 
Helen  Burns. 

"  Fetch  that  stool,"  said  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  pointing  to  a  very 
high  one  from  which  a  monitor  had  just  risen ;  it  was  brought. 

"  Place  the  child  upon  it." 

And  I  was  placed  there,  by  whom  I  don't  know — I  was  in  no 
condition  to  note  particulars — I  was  only  aware  that  they  had 
hoisted  me  up  to  the  height  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst's  nose,  that  he 
was  within  a  yard  of  me,  and  that  a  spread  of  shot  orange  and 
purple  silk  pelisse  and  a  cloud  of  silvery  plumage  extended 
and  waved  below  me. 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  hemmed. 

"  Ladies,"  said  he,  turning  to  his  family ;  "  Miss  Temple, 
teachers,  and  children,  you  all  see  this  girl  ? " 

Of  course  they  did ;  for  I  felt  their  eyes  directed  like  burning- 
glasses  against  my  scorched  skin. 

"  You  see  she  is  yet  young ;  you  observe  she  possesses  the 
ordinary  form  of  childhood  ;  God  has  graciously  given  her  the 
shape  that  he  has  given  to  all  of  us ;  no  signal  deformity  points 
her  out  as  a  marked  character.  Who  would  think  that  the  Evil 
One  had  already  found  a  servant  and  agent  in  her  ?  Yet  such, 
I  grieve  to  say,  is  the  case." 

A  pause — in  which  I  began  to  study  the  palsy  of  my  nerves, 
and  feel  that  the  Rubicon  was  passed;  and  that  the  trial,  no 
longer  to  be  shirked,  must  be  firmly  sustained. 

"  My  dear  children,"  pursued  the  black-marble  clergyman, 
with  pathos,  "  this  is  a  sad,  a  melancholy  occasion,  for  it  becomes 
my  duty  to  warn  you,  that  this  girl,  who  might  be  one  of  God's 
own  lambs,  is  a  little  castaway :  not  a  member  of  the  true  flock, 
but  evidently  an  interloper  and  an  alien.  You  must  be  on  your 
guard  against  her ;  you  must  shun  her  example ;  if  necessary, 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  219 

avoid  her  company,  exclude  her  from  your  sports,  and  shut  her 
out  from  your  converse.  Teachers,  you  must  watch  her.  Keep 
your  eyes  on  her  movements,  weigh  well  her  words,  scrutinize 
her  actions,  punish  her  body  to  save  her  soul,  if,  indeed,  such 
salvation  be  possible,  for  (my  tongue  falters  while  I  tell  it)  this 
girl,  this  child,  the  native  of  a  Christian  land,  worse  than  many 
a  little  heathen  who  says  its  prayers  to  Brahma  and  kneels  be- 
fore Juggernaut — this  girl  is — a  liar." 

Now  came  a  pause  of  ten  minutes :  during  which  I,  by  this 
time  in  perfect  possession  of  my  wits,  observed  all  the  female 
Brocklehursts  produce  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  and  apply 
them  to  their  optics,  while  the  elderly  lady  swayed  herself  to 
and  fro,  and  the  two  younger  ones  whispered,  "  How  shocking ! " 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  resumed. 

"  This  I  learned  from  her  benefactress ;  from  the  pious  and 
charitable  lady  who  adopted  her  in  her  orphan  state,  reared  her 
as  her  own  daughter,  and  whose  kindness,  whose  generosity,  the 
unhappy  girl  repaid  by  an  ingratitude  so  bad,  so  dreadful,  that 
at  last  her  excellent  patroness  was  obliged  to  separate  her  from 
her  own  young  ones,  fearful  lest  her  vicious  example  should 
contaminate  their  purity.  She  has  sent  her  here  to  be  healed, 
even  as  the  Jews  of  old  sent  their  diseased  to  the  troubled  pool 
of  Bethesda ;  and,  teachers,  superintendent,  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
allow  the  waters  to  stagnate  round  her." 

With  this  sublime  conclusion,  Mr.  Brocklehurst  adjusted  the 
top  button  of  his  surtout,  muttered  something  to  his  family, 
who  rose,  bowed  to  Miss  Temple,  and  then  all  the  great  people 
sailed  in  state  from  the  room.  Turning  at  the  door,  my  judge 
said,  "  Let  her  stand  half  an  hour  longer  on  that  stool,  and  let 
no  one  speak  to  her  during  the  remainder  of  the  day." 

There  was  I,  then,  mounted  aloft — I,  who  had  said  I  could 
not  bear  the  shame  of  standing  on  my  natural  feet  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  was  now  exposed  to  general  view  on  a  pedestal 
of  infamy.  What  my  sensations  were,  no  language  can  de- 
scribe ;  but  just  as  they  all  rose,  stifling  my  breath  and  con- 
stricting my  throat,  a  girl  came  up  and  passed  me.  In  passing, 


220  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

she  lifted  her  eyes.  What  a  strange  light  inspired  them ! 
What  an  extraordinary  sensation  that  ray  sent  through  me ! 
How  the  new  feeling  bore  me  up !  It  was  as  if  a  martyr,  a 
hero,  had  passed  a  slave  or  victim,  and  imparted  strength  in  the 
transit.  I  mastered  the  rising  hysteria,  lifted  up  my  head,  and 
took  a  firm  stand  on  the  stool.  Helen  Burns  asked  some  slight 
question  about  her  work  of  Miss  Smith,  was  chidden  for  the 
triviality  of  the  inquiry,  returned  to  her  place,  and  smiled  at 
me  as  she  again  went  by.  What  a  smile !  I  remember  it  now, 
and  I  know  that  it  was  the  effluence  of  fine  intellect,  of  true  cour- 
age ;  it  lit  up  her  marked  lineaments,  her  thin  face,  her  sunken 
gray  eye,  like  a  reflection  from  the  aspect  of  an  angel.  Yet 
at  that  moment  Helen  Burns  wore  on  her  arm  "the  untidy 
badge ; "  scarcely  an  hour  ago  I  had  heard  her  condemned  by 
Miss  Scatcherd  to  a  dinner  of  bread  and  water  on  the  morrow, 
because  she  had  blotted  an  exercise  in  copying  it  out.  Such  is 
the  imperfect  nature  of  man !  Such  spots  are  there  on  the  disk 
of  the  clearest  planet ;  and  eyes  like  Miss  Scatcherd 's  can-  only 
see  those  minute  defects,  and  are  blind  to  the  full  brightness  of 
the  orb. 

Ere  the  half-hour  ended  five  o'clock  struck ;  school  was  dis- 
missed, and  all  were  gone  into  the  refectory  to  tea.  I  now  ven- 
tured to  descend ;  it  was  deep  dusk ;  I  retired  into  a  corner  and 
sat  down  on  the  floor.  The  spell  by  which  I  had  been  so  far 
supported  began  to  dissolve ;  reaction  took  place,  and  soon,  so 
overwhelming  was  the  grief  that  seized  me,  I  sank  prostrate 
with  my  face  to  the  ground.  Now  I  wept.  Helen  Burns  was 
not  here ;  nothing  sustained  me ;  left  to  myself,  I  abandoned 
myself,  and  my  tears  watered  the  boards.  I  had  meant  to  be 
so  good,  and  to  do  so  much  at  Lowood,  to  make  so  many 
friends,  to  earn  respect  and  win  affection.  Already  I  had  made 
visible  progress ;  that  very  morning  I  had  reached  the  head  of 
my  class ;  Miss  Miller  had  praised  me  warmly ;  Miss  Temple  had 
smiled  approbation;  she  had  promised  to  teach  me  drawing, 
and  to  let  me  learn  French,  if  I  continued  to  make  similar 
improvement  two  months  longer ;  and  then  I  was  well  received 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  221 

by  my  fellow-pupils ;  treated  as  an  equal  by  those  of  my  own 
age,  and  not  molested  by  any;  now,  here  I  lay  again  crushed 
and  trodden  on ;  and  could  I  ever  rise  more  ? 

"  Never,"  I  thought ;  and  ardently  I  wished  to  die.  While 
sobbing  out  this  wish  in  broken  accents,  some  one  approached  ; 
I  started  up — again  Helen  Burns  was  near  me  ;  the  fading  fires 
just  showed  her  coming  up  the  long,  vacant  room ;  she  brought 
my  coffee  and  bread. 

"  Come,  eat  something,"  she  said  ;  but  I  put  both  away  from 
me,  feeling  as  if  a  drop  or  a  crumb  would  have  choked  me  in 
my  present  condition.  Helen  regarded  me,  probably  with  sur- 
prise. I  could  not  now  abate  my  agitation,  though  I  tried  hard ; 
I  continued  to  weep  aloud.  She  sat  down  on  the  ground  near 
me,  embraced  her  knees  with  her  arms,  and  rested  her  head 
upon  them ;  in  that  attitude  she  remained  silent  as  an  Indian. 
I  was  the  first  who  spoke :  "  Helen,  why  do  you  stay  with  a 
girl  whom  everybody  believes  to  be  a  liar  ?  " 

"  Everybody,  Jane  ?  Why,  there  are  only  eighty  people  who 
have  heard  you  called  so,  and  the  world  contains  hundreds  of 
millions." 

"  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  millions  ?  The  eighty  I  know 
despise  me." 

"Jane,  you  are  mistaken;  probably  not  one  in  the  school 
either  despises  or  dislikes  you.  Many,  I  am  sure,  pity  you 
much." 

"  How  can  they  pity  me  after  what  Mr.  Brocklehurst  said  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Brocklehurst  is  not  a  god  ;  nor  is  he  even  a  great  and 
admired  man ;  he  is  little  liked  here ;  he  never  took  steps  to 
make  himself  liked.  Had  he  treated  you  as  an  especial  favor- 
ite, you  would  have  found  enemies,  declared  or  covert,  all 
around  you.  As  it  is,  the  greater  number  would  offer  you  sym- 
pathy if  they  dared.  Teachers  and  pupils  may  look  coldly  on 
you  for  a  day  or  two,  but  friendly  feelings  are  concealed  in 
their  hearts ;  and  if  you  persevere  in  doing  well,  these  feelings 
will  ere  long  appear  so  much  the  more  evidently  for  their  tem- 
porary suppression.  Besides,  Jane —  -"  she  paused. 


222  CHARLOTTE  BRONTti 

11  Well,  Helen  ?  "  said  I,  putting  my  hand  into  hers.  She 
chafed  my  fingers  gently  to  warm  them,  and  went  on : 

"  If  all  the  world  hated  you,  and  believed  you  wicked,  while 
your  own  conscience  approved  you,  and  absolved  you  from 
guilt,  you  would  not  be  without  friends." 

"  No ;  I  know  I  should  think  well  of  myself;  but  that  is  not 
enough ;  if  others  don't  love  me,  I  would  rather  die  than  live — 
I  cannot  bear  to  be  solitary  and  hated,  Helen.  Look  here ;  to 
gain  some  real  affection  from  you,  or  Miss  Temple,  or  any  other 
whom  I  truly  love,  I  would  willingly  submit  to  have  the  bone 
of  my  arm  broken,  or  to  let  a  bull  toss  me,  or  to  stand  behind 
a  kicking  horse,  and  let  it  dash  its  hoof  at  my  chest " 

"  Hush,  Jane !  you  think  too  much  of  the  love  of  human 
beings ;  you  are  too  impulsive,  too  vehement.  The  sovereign 
Hand  that  created  your  frame,  and  put  life  into  it,  has  provided 
you  with  other  resources  than  your  feeble  self,  or  than  creatures 
feebler  than  you.  Besides  this  earth,  and  besides  the  race  of 
men,  there  is  an  invisible  world  and  a  kingdom  of  spirits.  That 
world  is  round  us,  for  it  is  everywhere ;  and  those  spirits  watch 
us,  for  they  are  commissioned  to  guard  us ;  and  if  we  were 
dying  in  pain  and  shame,  if  scorn  smote  us  on  all  sides,  and 
hatred  crushed  us,  angels  see  our  tortures,  recognize  our  inno- 
cence (if  innocent  we  be,  as  I  know  you  are  of  this  charge 
which  Mr.  Brocklehurst  has  weakly  and  pompously  repeated  at 
second-hand  from  Mrs.  Reed ;  for  I  read  a  sincere  nature  in 
your  ardent  eyes  and  on  your  clear  front),  and  God  waits  only 
the  separation  of  spirit  from  flesh  to  crown  us  with  a  full 
reward.  Why,  then,  should  we  ever  sink  overwhelmed  with 
distress,  when  life  is  so  soon  over,  and  death  is  so  certain  an 
entrance  to  happiness — to  glory  ?  " 

I  was  silent.  Helen  had  calmed  me  ;  but  in  the  tranquillity 
she  imparted  there  was  an  alloy  of  inexpressible  sadness.  I 
felt  the  impression  of  woe  as  she  spoke,  but  I  could  not  tell 
whence  it  came ;  and  when,  having  done  speaking,  she  breathed 
a  little  fast  and  coughed  a  short  cough,  I  momentarily  forgot 
my  own  sorrows,  to  yield  to  a  vague  concern  for  her. 


LOWOOD   SCHOOL  223 

Resting  my  head  on  Helen's  shoulder,  I  put  my  arms  round 
her  waist ;  she  drew  me  to  her  and  we  reposed  in  silence.  We 
had  not  sat  long  thus  when  another  person  came  in.  Some 
heavy  clouds,  swept  from  the  sky  by  a  rising  wind,  had  left  the 
moon  bare;  and  her  light,  streaming  in  through  a  window 
near,  shone  full  both  on  us  and  on  the  approaching  figure,  which 
we  at  once  recognized  as  Miss  Temple. 

"  I  came  on  purpose  to  find  you,  Jane  Eyre,"  said  she ;  "  I 
want  you  in  my  room ;  and  as  Helen  Burns  is  with  you,  she 
may  come  too." 

We  went ;  following  the  superintendent's  guidance,  we  had 
to  thread  some  intricate  passages,  and  mount  a  staircase  before 
we  reached  her  apartment ;  it  contained  a  good  fire,  and  looked 
cheerful.  Miss  Temple  told  Helen  Burns  to  be  seated  in  a  low 
arm-chair  on  one  side  of  the  hearth,  and  herself  taking  another, 
she  called  me  to  her  side. 

"  Is  it  all  over  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  down  at  my  face.  "  Have 
you  cried  your  grief  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  do  that." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  wrongly  accused ;  and  you,  ma'am, 
and  everybody  else  will  now  think  me  wicked." 

"  We  shall  think  you  what  you  prove  yourself  to  be,  my  child. 
Continue  to  act  as  a  good  girl,  and  you  will  satisfy  me." 

"  Shall  I,  Miss  Temple  ?  " 

"  You  will,"  said  she,  passing  her  arm  round  me.  "  And 
now  tell  me  who  is  the  lady  whom  Mr.  Brocklehurst  called 
your  benefactress  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Reed,  my  uncle's  wife.  My  uncle  is  dead,  and  he  left 
me  to  her  care." 

"  Did  she  not,  then,  adopt  you  of  her  own  accord  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am ;  she  was  sorry  to  have  to  do  it ;  but  my  uncle, 
as  I  have  often  heard  the  servants  say,  got  her  to  promise 
before  he  died  that  she  would  always  keep  me." 

"  Well,  now,  Jane,  you  know,  or  at  least  I  will  tell  you,  that 
when  a  criminal  is  accused,  he  is  always  allowed  to  speak  in  his 


224  CHARLOTTE  BRONT& 

own  defense.  You  have  been  charged  with  falsehood ;  defend 
yourself  to  me  as  well  as  you  can.  Say  whatever  your  memory 
suggests  as  true ;  but  add  nothing  and  exaggerate  nothing." 

I  resolved  in  the  depth  of  my  heart  that  I  would  be  most 
moderate — most  correct ;  and,  having  reflected  a  few  minutes 
in  order  to  arrange  coherently  what  I  had  to  say,  I  told  her  all 
the  story  of  my  sad  childhood.  Exhausted  by  emotion,  my 
language  was  more  subdued  than  it  generally  was  when  it 
developed  that  sad  theme;  and  mindful  of  Helen's  warnings 
against  the  indulgence  of  resentment,  I  infused  into  the  narra- 
tive far  less  of  gall  and  wormwood  than  ordinary.  Thus  re- 
strained and  simplified,  it  sounded  more  credible.  I  felt  as  I 
went  on  that  Miss  Temple  fully  believed  me. 

In  the  course  of  the  tale  I  had  mentioned  Mr.  Lloyd  as  hav- 
ing come  to  see  me  after  the  fit ;  for  I  never  forgot  the,  to  me, 
frightful  episode  of  the  red-room ;  in  detailing  which,  my  ex- 
citement was  sure,  in  some  degree,  to  break  bounds ;  for  noth- 
ing could  soften  in  my  recollection  the  spasm  of  agony  which 
clutched  my  heart  when  Mrs.  Reed  spurned  my  wild  supplica- 
tion for  pardon,  and  locked  me  a  second  time  in  the  dark  and 
haunted  chamber. 

I  had  finished.  Miss  Temple  regarded  me  a  few  minutes  in 
silence ;  she  then  said :  "  I  know  something  of  Mr.  Lloyd ;  I 
shall  write  to  him ;  if  his  reply  agrees  with  your  statement,  you 
shall  be  publicly  cleared  from  every  imputation.  To  me,  Jane, 
you  are  clear  now." 

She  kissed  me,  and  still  keeping  me  at  her  side  (where  I  was 
well  contented  to  stand,  for  I  derived  a  child's  pleasure  from 
the  contemplation  of  her  face,  her  dress,  her  one  or  two  orna- 
ments, her  white  forehead,  her  clustered  and  shining  curls,  and 
beaming  dark  eyes),  she  proceeded  to  address  Helen  Burns. 

"  How  are  you  to-night,  Helen  ?  Have  you  coughed  much 
to-day?" 

"  Not  quite  so  much,  I  think,  ma'am." 

"  And  the  pain  in  your  chest  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  little  better." 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  225 

Miss  Temple  got  up,  took  her  hand  and  examined  her  pulse ; 
then  she  returned  to  her  own  seat.  As  she  resumed  it,  I  heard 
her  sigh  low.  She  was  pensive  a  few  minutes,  then  rousing 
herself,  she  said  cheerfully,  "  But  you  two  are  my  visitors  to- 
night ;  I  must  treat  you  as  such."  She  rang  her  bell. 

"Barbara,"  she  said  to  the  servant  who  answered  it,  "I  have 
not  yet  had  tea ;  bring  the  tray,  and  place  cups  for  these  two 
young  ladies." 

And  a  tray  was  soon  brought.  How  pretty,  to  my  eyes,  did 
the  china  cups  and  bright  teapot  look,  placed  on  the  little 
round  table  near  the  fire !  How  fragrant  was  the  steam  of  the 
beverage,  and  -the  scent  of  the  toast !  of  which,  however,  I,  to 
my  dismay  (for  I  was  beginning  to  be  hungry),  discerned  only 
a  very  small  portion.  Miss  Temple  discerned  it  too.  "  Bar- 
bara," said  she,  "  can  you  not  bring  a  little  more  bread  and 
butter  ?  There  is  not  enough  for  three." 

Barbara  went  out ;  she  returned  soon.  "  Madam,  Mrs.  Har- 
den says  she  has  sent  up  the  usual  quantity." 

Mrs.  Harden,  be  it  observed,  was  the  housekeeper — a  woman 
after  Mr.  Brocklehurst's  own  heart,  made  up  of  equal  parts  of 
whalebone  and  iron. 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  returned  Miss  Temple ;  "  we  must  make 
it  do,  Barbara,  I  suppose."  And  as  the  girl  withdrew,  she 
added,  smiling,  "  Fortunately,  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  supply 
deficiencies  for  this  once." 

Having  invited  Helen  and  me  to  approach  the  table,  and 
placed  before  each  of  us  a  cup  of  tea  with  one  delicious  but 
thin  morsel  of  toast,  she  got  up,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  taking 
from  it  a  parcel  wrapped  in  paper,  disclosed  presently  to  our 
eyes  a  good-sized  seed-cake. 

"  I  meant  to  give  each  of  you  some  of  this  to  take  with  you," 
said  she  ;  "  but  as  there  is  so  little  toast,  you  must  have  it  now," 
and  she  proceeded  to  cut  slices  with  a  generous  hand. 

We  feasted  that  evening  as  on  nectar  and  ambrosia;  and 
not  the  least  delight  of  the  entertainment  was  the  smile  of 
gratification  with  which  our  hostess  regarded  us,  as  we  satisfied 
s.  M. — 15 


226  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

our  famished  appetites  on  the  delicate  fare  she  liberally  sup- 
plied. Tea  over  and  the  tray  removed,  she  again  summoned 
us  to  the  fire.  We  sat  one  on  each  side  of  her ;  and  now  a  con- 
versation followed  between  her  and  Helen  which  it  was  indeed 
a  privilege  to  be  admitted  to  hear. 

Miss  Temple  had  always  something  of  serenity  in  her  air, 
of  state  in  her  mien,  of  refined  propriety  in  her  language, 
which  precluded  deviation  into  the  ardent,  the  excited,  the 
eager — something  which  chastened  the  pleasure  of  those  who 
looked  on  her  and  listened  to  her,  by  a  controlling  sense  of 
awe ;  and  such  was  my  feeling  now ;  but  as  to  Helen  Burns, 
I  was  struck  with  wonder.  ;  » 

The  refreshing  meal,  the  brilliant  fire,  the  presence  and  kind- 
ness of  her  beloved  instructress,  or,  perhaps,  more  than  all  these, 
something  in  her  own  unique  mind,  had  roused  her  powers 
within  her.  They  woke,  they  kindled.  First;  they  glowed  in 
the  bright  tint  of  her  cheek,  which  till  this  hour  I  had  never 
seen  but  pale  and  bloodless;  then  they  shone  in  the  liquid 
luster  of  her  eyes,  which  had  suddenly  acquired  a  beauty  more 
singular  than  that  of  Miss  Temple's — a  beauty  neither  of  fine 
color  nor  long  eyelashes,  nor  penciled  brow,  but  of  meaning,  of 
movement,  of  radiance.  Then  her  soul  sat  on  her  lips,  and 
language  flowed,  from  what  source  I  cannot  tell.  Has  a  girl 
of  fourteen  a  heart  large  enough,  vigorous  enough,  to  hold  the 
swelling  spring  of  pure,  full,  fervid  eloquence  ?  Such  was  the 
characteristic  of  Helen's  discourse  on  that,  to  me,  memorable 
evening;  her  spirit  seemed  hastening  to  live  within  a  very 
brief  span  as  much  as  many  live  during  a  protracted  existence. 

They  conversed  of  things  I  had  never  heard  of — of  nations 
and  times  past ;  of  countries  far  away ;  of  secrets  of  nature  dis- 
covered or  guessed  at.  They  spoke  of  books.  How  many  they 
had  read !  What  stores  of  knowledge  they  possessed  !  Then 
they  seemed  so  familiar  with  French  names  and  French  authors; 
but  my  amazement  reached  its  climax  when  Miss  Temple  asked 
Helen  if  she  sometimes  snatched  a  moment  to  recall  the  Latin 
her  father  had  taught  her,  and  taking  a  book  from  a  shelf,  bade 


LOWOOD   SCHOOL  227 

her  read  and  construe  a  page  of  "  Virgil ;  "  and  Helen  obeyed, 
my  organ  of  veneration  expanding  at  every  sounding  line.  She 
had  scarcely  finished  ere  the  bell  announced  bedtime.  No 
delay  could  be  admitted ;  Miss  Temple  embraced  us  both  say- 
ing, as  she  drew  us  to  her  heart, "  God  bless  you,  my  children  ! " 

Helen  she  held  a  little  longer  than  me ;  she  let  her  go  more 
reluctantly ;  it  was  Helen  her  eye  followed  to  the  door ;  it  was 
for  her  she  a  second  time  breathed  a  sad  sigh ;  for  her  she 
wiped  a  tear  from  her  cheek. 

On  reaching  the  bedroom,  we  heard  the  voice  of  Miss 
Scatcherd.  She  was  examining  drawers ;  she  had  just  pulled 
out  Helen  Burns',  and  when  we  entered,  Helen  was  greeted 
with  a  sharp  reprimand,  and  told  that  to-morrow  she  should 
have  half  a  dozen  of  untidily-folded  articles  pinned  to  her 
shoulder. 

"  My  things  were  indeed  in  shameful  disorder,"  murmured 
Helen  to  me,  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  intended  to  have  arranged 
them,  but  I  forgot." 

Next  morning  Miss  Scatcherd  wrote,  in  conspicuous  charac- 
ters on  a  piece  of  pasteboard,  the  word  "  Slattern,"  and  bound 
it  like  a  phylactery  round  Helen's  large,  mild,  intelligent,  and 
benign-looking  forehead.  She  wore  it  till  evening,  patient, 
unresentful,  regarding  it  as  a  deserved  punishment. 

But  the  privations,  or  rather  the  hardships  of  Lowood  less- 
ened. Spring  drew  on ;  she  was  indeed  already  come ;  the 
frosts  of  winter  had  ceased ;  its  snows  were  melted,  its  cutting 
winds  ameliorated.  My  wretched  feet,  flayed  and  swollen  to 
lameness  by  the  sharp  air  of  January,  began  to  heal  and  sub- 
side under  the  gentler  breathings  of  April ;  the  nights  and 
mornings  no  longer  by  their  Canadian  temperature  froze  the 
very  blood  in  our  veins ;  we  could  now  endure  the  play-hour 
passed  in  the  garden ;  sometimes  on  a  sunny  day  it  began  even 
to  be  pleasant  and  genial,  and  a  greenness  grew  over  those 
brown  beds  which,  freshening  daily,  suggested  the  thought  that 
Hope  traversed  them  at  night,  and  left  each  morning  brighter 


228  CHARLOTTE  BRONT& 

traces  of  her  steps.  Flowers  peeped  out  among  the  leaves — 
snowdrops,  crocuses,  purple  auriculas,  and  golden-eyed  pansies. 
On  Thursday  afternoons  (half  holidays)  we  now  took  walks,  and 
found  sjtill  sweeter  flowers  opening  by  the  wayside,  under  the 
hedges. 

That  forest  dell,  where  Lowood  lay,  was  the  cradle  of  fog  and 
fog-bred  pestilence;  which,  quickening  with  the  quickening 
spring,  crept  into  the  Orphan  Asylum,  breathed  typhus  through 
its  crowded  schoolroom  and  dormitory,  and,  ere  May  arrived, 
transformed  the  seminary  into  a  hospital. 

Semi-starvation  and  neglected  colds  had  predisposed  most 
of  the  pupils  to  receive  infection ;  forty-five  out  of  the  eighty 
girls  lay  ill  at  one  time.  Classes  were  broken  up,  rules  relaxed. 
The  few  who  continued  well  were  allowed  almost  unlimited 
license,  because  the  medical  attendant  insisted  on  the  necessity 
of  frequent  exercise  to  keep  them  in  health ;  and  had  it  been 
otherwise,  no  one  had  leisure  to  watch  or  restrain  them.  Miss 
Temple's  whole  attention  was  absorbed  by  the  patients.  She 
lived  in  the  sick-room,  never  quitting  it  except  to  snatch  a  few 
hours'  rest  at  night.  The  teachers  were  fully  occupied  with 
packing  up  and  making  other  necessary  preparations  for  the 
departure  of  those  girls  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  have 
friends  and  relations  able  and  willing  to  remove  them  from  the 
seat  of  contagion.  Many  already  smitten  went  home  only  to 
die.  Some  died  at  the  school  and  were  buried  quietly  and 
quickly,  the  nature  of  the  malady  forbidding  delay. 

While  disease  had  thus  become  an  inhabitant  of  Lowood, 
and  death  its  frequent  visitor ;  while  there  was  gloom  and  fear 
within  its  walls;  while  its  rooms  and  passages  steamed  with 
hospital  smells,  the  drug  and  the  pastil  striving  vainly  to  over- 
come the  effluvia  of  mortality,  that  bright  May  shone  unclouded 
over  the  bold  hills  and  beautiful  woodland  out  of  doors.  Its 
garden,  too,  glowed  with  flowers ;  hollyhocks  had  sprung  up 
tall  as  trees,  lilies  had  opened,  tulips  and  roses  were  in  bloom ; 
the  borders  of  the  little  beds  were  gay  with  pink  thrift  and 


LOWOOD  SCHOOL  229 

crimson  double-daisies ;  the  sweetbriers  gave  out,  morning  and 
evening,  their  scent  of  spice  and  apples ;  and  these  fragrant 
treasures  were  all  useless  for  most  of  the  inmates  of  Lowood, 
except  to  furnish  now  and  then  a  handful  of  herbs  and  blossoms 
to  put  in  a  coffin. 

But  I,  and  the  rest  who  continued  well,  enjoyed  fully  the 
beauties  of  the  scene  and  season.  They  let  us  ramble  in  the 
wood  like  gypsies,  from  morning  till  night.  We  did  what  we 
liked,  went  where  we  liked.  We  lived  better  too.  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst  and  his  family  never  came  near  Lowood  now ;  household 
matters  were  not  scrutinized  into ;  the  cross  housekeeper  was 
gone,  driven  away  by  the  fear  of  infection ;  her  successor,  who 
had  been  matron  at  the  Lowton  Dispensary,  unused  to  the  ways 
of  her  new  abode,  provided  with  comparative  liberality.  Be- 
sides, there  were  fewer  to  feed;  the  sick  could  eat  little;  our 
breakfast-basins  were  better  filled.  When  there  was  no  time  to 
prepare  a  regular  dinner,  which  often  happened,  she  would 
give  us  a  large  piece  of  cold  pie,  or  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and 
cheese,  and  this  we  carried  away  with  us  to  the  wood,  where 
we  each  chose  the  spot  we  liked  best,  and  dined  sumptuously. 


DAVID    PERKINS    PAGE 

181O-1848 

DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE  was  born  at  Epping,  New  Hampshire,  in  1810. 
He  was  the  son  of  a  prosperous  New  England  farmer,  and  passed  his 
youth  in  his  native  village,  where  he  was  enrolled  as  a  pupil  in  the 
public  school.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  years  he  entered  Hampton  Acad- 
emy, where  he  prepared  himself  for  the  profession  of  teaching.  After 
an  experience  of  two  years  as  teacher  of  a  private  school  at  Newbury, 
he  was  chosen  associate  principal  of  the  Newburyport  High  School,  in 
which  position  he  served  for  twelve  years.  In  1844  he  was  chosen  to 
be  president  of  the  State  Normal  School  of  New  York,  at  Albany. 
The  appointment  was  made  at  the  suggestion  of  Horace  Mann.  The 
Normal  School  was  new,  and  was  deemed  an  experiment.  Mr.  Page's 
administration  of  the  institution  was  marvelously  successful,  and 
exerted  a  wide  influence  in  favor  of  professional  schools  for  the  train- 
ing of  teachers.  Mr.  Page  was  a  very  busy  man.  He  wrote  much, 
in  a  fragmentary  way,  and  delivered  addresses  of  great  power,  some 
of  which  were  published  and  extensively  circulated.  Doubtless  he 
had  formed  plans  for  systematic  authorship.  He  had  completed  but 
one  book,  "The  Theory  and  Practice  of  Teaching,"  when  he  died, 
suddenly,  in  1848,  at  the  height  of  his  usefulness. 

"Never,"  says  one,  "  was  a  career  of  brilliant  promise  more  abruptly 
terminated.  With  him  died  his  ambitious  plans  of  authorship,  of  or- 
ganization, of  far-reaching  personal  influence.  And  yet,  in  view  of 
the  sequel,  one  is  tempted  to  ask,  what  more  could  he  have  achieved 
had  he  lived  ?  Everywhere  in  the  United  States  the  schoolroom  tells 
of  Page.  The  pioneer  in  American  pedagogical  literature,  he  is  now 
the  patriarch,  as  he  speaks  through  his  writings."  Of  the  remarkable 
interest  manifested  in  Page's  book  in  recent  years  the  same  writer  says : 
•'In  this  present  Page  revival,  much  interest  has  been  manifested  in 
all  that  pertains  to  that  gifted  teacher.  His  portrait  has  been  sought 
in  old  paintings,  engravings,  and  daguerreotypes.  It  is  no  disappoint- 
ment. The  features  of  Pestalozzi  are  pinched  and  wan.  The  face  of 
Page  is  youthful,  strong,  and  healthy.  Anecdotes  relating  to  the  man 
— which  linger  in  the  legends  of  Newburyport  and  Albany ;  his  motto, 
'  Succeed  or  die  '  (both  of  which  he  did) ;  glimpses  of  his  mode  of  life 

230 


CHARACTERIZATION  231 

and  thought,  which  we  obtain  from  his  writings  (for  he  unconsciously 
mirrored  himself  aS  in  a  looking-glass) ;  the  old  dialogues  which  he  used 
to  write  for  his  school  exhibitions,  and  which  are  to  be  found,  now 
and  then,  in  old  books,  and  are  keenly  significant  in  their  purport — all 
these  the  teachers  are  thinking  about  and  writing  about,  as  interesting 
souvenirs  of  the  remarkable  man  now  brought  so  prominently  before 
them." 

Characterization 

Mr.  Page's  powers  as  an  orator  and  debater  were  of  a  very  high 
order.  "  He  possessed,''  says  Mr.  Mann  (himself  an  orator  of  no  mean 
powers),  "that  rare  quality,  so  indispensable  to  an  orator,  the  power 
to  think,  standing  on  his  feet  and  before  folks."  As  a  teacher,  he 
exhibited  two  valuable  qualifications,  the  ability  to  turn  the  attention 
of  his  pupils  to  the  principles  which  explain  facts,  and  in  such  a  way 
that  they  could  see  clearly  the  connection ;  and  the  talent  for  reading 
the  character  of  his  pupils  so  accurately  that  he  could  at  once  discern 
what  were  their  governing  passions  and  tendencies,  what  in  them 
needed  encouragement,  and  what  repression.  His  familiar  lectures  to 
his  pupils  on  subjects  connected  with  the  teacher's  life  and  duties, 
could  they  be  published,  would  form  an  invaluable  handbook  for 
teachers.  He  possessed,  beyond  most  men,  the  happy  talent  of  always 
saying  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time. 

BARNARD'S  "JOURNAL  OF  EDUCATION." 

Page  is  one  of  the  people.  He  is  himself  a  teacher,  who  has  filled 
the  various  places  teachers  are  called  upon  to  occupy  in  the  public 
schools.  He  comes  to  them  in  a  plain  and  matter-of-fact  way,  realiz- 
ing all  the  conditions,  the  needs,  the  aims  and  purposes,  the  duties  and 
cares  pertaining  to  the  teacher's  work.  And  thus  he  becomes  the  per- 
sonal adviser — the  Mentor — of  those  who,  perhaps  more  than  any 
others  in  any  community,  feel  the  need  of  a  personal  adviser  and 
Mentor.  "INDIANA  SCHOOL  JOURNAL." 

Page's  dialogue,  "The  Schoolmaster,"  which  was  hastily  written  for 
a  school  entertainment  at  Newburyport,  is  valued  chiefly  as  an  inter- 
esting souvenir  of  its  author — in  fact,  his  portrait,  unconsciously  self- 
drawn.  Some  of  its  administrative  features  give  it  to-day  a  touch  of 
archaism;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  dialogue  belongs  to  a 
day  when  teachers  mended  pens,  and  "set"  copies,  and  kept  "cow- 
hides "  in  constant  use.  It  is,  however,  a  strong  presentation  of  the 
true  teacher — his  earnestness,  his  solicitude  for  the  school,  his  self-con- 
trol, and  manly  strength  of  character. 


232  DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE 

The  Schoolmaster 

(A  Dialogue) 
DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

SQUIRE  SNYDER, 

MR.  FOSDICK, 

MR.     '  >"  Patrons  of  the  sch°o1- 


i-  Pupils  of  the  school. 


MR.  LE  COMPTE, 
JONAS  SNYDER, 
WILLIAM  FOSDICK, 
PATRICK  O'CLARY, 
JACQUES  LE  COMPTE, 
ISAAC, 
and  others, 


SCENE. — Interior  of  a  Village  Schoolroom. — The  Schoolmaster  alone. 

MASTER.  (Setting  copies.)  Well,  so  here  I  am  again,  after 
another  night's  sleep.  But,  sleep  or  no  sleep,  I  feel  about  as 
much  fatigued  in  the  morning  as  I  do  at  night.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  get  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  my  profession  out  of  my 
mind.  It  does  seem  to  me  that  the  parents  of  some  of  my 
pupils  are  very  unfeeling ;  for  I  know  I  have  done  my  very 
best  to  keep  a  good  school,  and,  however  I  may  have  failed 
in  some  instances,  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  feeling,  in  my  con- 
science, that  my  best  endeavors  have  been  devoted  to  my  work. 
A  merry  lot  of  copies  here,  to  be  set  before  schooltime.  (Looking 
at  his  watch.)  But  "  a  diligent  hand  will  accomplish  much  ;  " — 
by  the  way,  that  will  do  for  a  copy  for  Jonas  Snyder — little  cul- 
prit! he  was  very  idle  yesterday. — (Thinking  and  busy.)  What 
can  that  story  mean,  which  Mr.  Truetell  told  me  this  morning? 
Five  or  six ! — who  could  they  be  ? — five  or  six  of  the  parents 
of  my  scholars  dreadfully  offended !  Let  me  see ;  what  have  I 
done  ?  Nothing,  very  lately,  that  I  recollect.  Let's  see ; — yes- 
terday ?  no,  there  was  nothing  yesterday,  except  that  I  detained 
the  class  in  geography  till  they  got  their  lessons.  Oh,  yes,  Jonas 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  233 

Snyder  was  punished  for  idleness.  But  I  spoke  to  him  four  or 
five  times,  and  he  would  do  nothing  but  whisper,  and  whittle 
his  bench ;  and  when  at  last  he  half  eat  up  an  apple,  and  threw 
the  rest  at  Jacob  Readslow,  I  thought  he  deserved  it.  Let's  see ; 
I  gave  him  six  claps — three  on  each  hand ; — well,  he  did  not 
get  more  than  his  deserts.  (Enter  one  of  the  scholars,  with  his 
books  under  his  arm,  walking  slowly,  and  eyeing  the  Master,  to  his 
seat.  Master  still  busy,  and  thinking,  by  and  by  says,)  Isaac,  you 
may  come  to  me. 

(He  walks  along  and  says,)  Sir ! 

MASTER.  Do  you  remember  (placing  his  pen  over  his  ear,  and 
turning  earnestly  and  portentously  round)  whether  I  punished  any 
scholars  yesterday  ? 

ISAAC.  Yes,  sir;  you  feruled  Joiie  Snyder,  for  playing  and 
laughing. 

MASTER.  Did  I  punish  any  one  else? 

ISAAC.  Not  as  I  recollect. 

MASTER.  Think,  Isaac ;  think  carefully. 

ISAAC.  You  kept  a  lot  of  us  after  school,  for  not  saying  our 
lessons 

MASTER.  (Quickly.)  You  mean,  Isaac,  rather,  I  kept  you  to 
get  your  lessons,  which  you  had  neglected  ? 

ISAAC.  Yes,  sir;  and  you  made  Patrick  O'Clary  stop  and 
sweep,  because  he  stayed  out  too  late  after  recess. 

MASTER.  Oh,  yes !  I  remember  that. 

ISAAC.  He  was  as  mad  as  a  hop  about  it ;  he  said  he  meant 
to  tell  his  mother  that  you  made  him  sweep  for  nothing. 

MASTER.  Hush !  hush !  You  shouldn't  tell  tales !  Do  you 
remember  any  other  punishments  ? 

ISAAC.  No,  sir ;  not  yesterday.  You  hit  Jake  Le  Compte  a 
clip  across  the  knuckles,  with  the  cowskin,  day  before  yester- 
day; — don't  you  remember? — just  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  hook  that  old  rag  upon  Tom  Willis'  collar,  you  came  along 
behind  him,  and  clip  went  the  old  whip,  right  across  his  fingers, 
and  down  went  the  old  rag.  There,  I  never  was  more  glad  to 
see  anything  in  my  life !  Little  dirty,  mean  fellow ! — he's  always 


234  DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE 

sticking  things  upon  fellows  ; — I  saw  him  once  pin  an  old  dirty 
rag  upon  a  man's  coat,  just  as  he  was  putting  a  letter  into  the 
post-office ; — I  never  saw  such  a  fellow ! 

(The  other  boys  coming  in  gradually,  the  Master  rings  his  little 
bell,  and  says,)  Boys,  come  to  order  and  take  your  books.  Now, 
boys,  I  wish  to  see  if  we  can't  have  a  good  school  to-day.  Let's 
see ;  are  we  all  here  ? 

BOYS.  No,  sir !     No,  sir ! 

MASTER.  Who  is  absent  ? 

BOYS.  Jone  Snyder !  Jake  Le  Compte !  Patrick  O'Clary ! 
and 

MASTER.  Speak  one  at  a  time,  my  boys.  Don't  make  con- 
fusion, to  begin  with  ; — and  (looking  around  them,) — oh  !  Will 
Fosdick, — only  four ! 

ONE  OF  THE  BOYS.  Pat  O'Clary  is  late.  I  saw  him  down  in 
Baker  Street,  poking  along ! — he  always  comes  late 

MASTER.  Did  he  say  he  was  coming? 

SAME  BOY.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  coming  to  school,  and  he 
shook  his  head,  and  muttered  out  something  about  his  mother, 
and  I  ran  along  and  left  him. 

MASTER.  Well,  boys ;  now  let  us  try  to  have  a  still  school  and 
close  study  to-day,  and  see  if  it  is  not  more  pleasant  to  learn 
than  to  play.  (Rises  and  walks  to  and  fro  on  the  stage.)  Take 
the  geography  lesson,  James  and  Samuel,  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing ;  and  Isaac,  I  don't  wish  to  detain  you  again  to-day.  (Loud 
knock  at  the  door.) 

(Enter  William  Fosdick,  walking  consequentially  up  to  the  Mas- 
ter, saying,)  Here !  father  wants  to  see  you  at  the  door ! 

(Master  turns  to  go  to  the  door,  followed  by  William,  who 
wishes  to  hear  all  that's  said,  and  Mr.  Fosdick,  looking  quite 
savage,  steps  right  inside, — the  Master  politely  bowing,  with  a  "  good- 
morning") 

MR.  FOSDICK.  Here,  sir ;  I  want  to  see  you  about  my  boy ! 
I  don't  like  to  have  you  keep  him  after  school  every  day  ;  I  want 
him  at  home, — and  I  should  like  to  have  you  dismiss  him  when 
school  is  done.  If  he  wants  lickin',  lick  him — that's  all ;  but 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  235 

don't  you  keep  him  here  an  hour  or  two  every  day  after  school, 
— I  don't  send  him  here  for  that ! 

MASTER.  But,  my  good  sir,  I  have  not  often  detained  him ; 
not  more  than  twice  within  a  fort 

MR.  FOSDICK.  Well,  don't  you  do  it  again, — that's  all ! 

MASTER.  But,  sir,  I  have  only  detained  him  to  learn  the 
lessons  which  he  might  learn  in  school ;  and  surely,  if 

MR.  FOSDICK.  Well,  well,  sir  !  don't  you  do  it  again  ! — that's 
all  I  have  to  say  !  If  he  behaves  bad,  you  lick  him,— only  do 
it  in  reason ; — but  when  school  is  done,  I  want  him  dismissed  ! 

MASTER.  Sir,  I  do  what  I  conceive  to  be  my  duty ;  and  I 
serve  all  my  scholars  alike ;  and  while  I  would  be  willing  to 
accommodate  you,  I  shall  do  what  I  think  is  my  duty.  (Gather- 
ing spirit  and  gravity,  and  advancing?)  Sir,  do  I  understand  you 
to  wish  me  to  whip  your  son  for  not  getting  his  lesson  ? 

MR.  FOSDICK.  Yes — no — yes — in  reason;  I  don't  want  my 
children's  bones  broke ! 

MASTER.  (Taking  from  the  desk  a  cowhide?)  Do  you  prefer 
your  son  should  be  whipped  to  being  detained  ? 

FOSDICK.  I  don't  think  not  getting  his  lessons  is  such  a  dread- 
ful crime.  I  never  used  to  get  my  lessons,  and  old  Master  Pep- 
permint never  used  to  lick  me,  and  I  am  sure  he  never  kept  me 
after  school ;  but  we  used  to  have  schools  good  for  sumfin  in 
them  days.  Bill,  go  to  your  seat,  and  behave  yourself!  and 
when  school  is  done,  you  come  home!  That's  all  I  have  to 
say! 

MASTER.  But  stop,  my  boy  !  (Speaking  to  William,  decidedly?) 
There  happen  to  be  two  sides  to  this  question  !  There  is  some- 
thing further  to  be  said,  before  you  go  to  your  seat  in  this  school. 

FOSDICK.  What !  you  don't  mean  to  turn  him  out  of  school, 
do  ye  ?  (Somebody  knocks?) 

(A  boy  steps  to  the  door,  and  in  steps  Mr.  0'  Clary,  who,  approach- 
ing Mr.  Fosdick,  says,}  Is  it  you  that's  the  schoolmaster,  sure? 
It's  I  that's  after  spaking  to  the  schoolmaster.  (Bowing?) 

FOSDICK.  No ;  I'm  no  schoolmaster. 

MASTER.  What  is  your  wish,  sir? 


236  DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE 

MR.  O'CLARY.  I  wants  to  spake  with  the  schoolmaster,  I  do, 
sir.  (Bows.) 

MASTER.  Well,  sir  (rapping  to  keep  the  boys  still,  who  are  dis- 
posed to  laugh,)  I  am  the  schoolmaster.  What  is  your  wish  ? 

MR.  O'C.  Why,  sir,  my  little  spalpeen  of  a  son  goes  to  this 
school,  he  does ;  and  he  says  he's  made  to  swape  every  day,  he 
is ;  and  it's  all  for  nothing,  he  tells  me ;  and  sure  I  don't  like 
it,  I  don't ;  and  I'm  kim  to  complain  to  ye,  I  have !  It's  Pat- 
rick O'Clary  that  I'm  spaking  uv ;  and  it's  I  that's  his  father, 
I  be ;  his  father,  Paddy  O'Clary  from  Cork,  it  is. 

MASTER.  Well,  sir,  he  has  never  swept  but  once,  I  believe ; 
and  that,  surely,  was  not  without  a  good  reason. 

MR.  O'C.  But  himself  tills  a  different  story,  he  does ;  and  I 
niver  knew  him  till  but  one  lie  in  my  life,  I  didn't ;  and  that 
was  as  good  as  none.  But  the  little  spalpeen  shall  be  after  till- 
ing his  own  stowry,  he  shall !  for  it's  he  that's  waiting  in  the 
entry,  and  will  till  ye  no  lie,  at  all,  at  all — upon  that  ye  may 
depind  !  though  it's  his  father  that  says  it,  and  sure ! — ( Calls.) 
— Patrick  !  Patrick ! !  Patrick ! ! !  My  dear,  here's  your  father 
wants  ye  to  come  in,  and  till  Master  how  it's  you  that's  kept 
to  swape  ivry  day,  and  it's  all  for  nothing,  it  is !  Come  in,  I 
say,  in  a  jiffy  !  (Patrick,  scratching  his  head,  enters.)  Here's  your 
father,  dear !  now  till  your  master, — and  till  the  truth — didn't 
ye  till  your  mither  that  ye  had  to  swape  ivry  day  for  nothing ; 
and  it's  you  that's  going  to  be  kept  swaping  ivry  day,  for  a 
month  to  come,  and  sure? 

MASTER.  Now  tell  the  truth,  Patrick. 

PATRICK.  (Looking  at  his  father.)  No ;  I  niver  said  no  such 
words,  and  sure !  I  said  how  I's  kept  to  swape  yisterday,  for 
staying  out  too  late ;  and  that's  all  I  said  'bout  it,  at  all,  at  all. 

MR.  O'C.  "  Gush  la  macree ! "  Little  sonny,  how  you  talk ! 
He's  frightened,  he  is,  and  sure !  ( Turning  to  Mr.  Fosdick.) 
He's  always  bashful  before  company,  he  is.  But,  Master, 
it's  I  that  don't  like  to  have  him  made  to  swape  the  school, 
indade,  and  if  you  can  do  nothing  else,  I  shall  be  in  sad  taking, 
I  shall,  and  sure !  If  you  should  be  after  bating  him,  I  should 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  237 

make  no  complaint ;  for  I  bates  him  myself,  wheniver  he  lies 
to  his  mither — a  little  spalpeen  that  he  is !  But  I  can't  bear  to 
have  him  made  to  do  the  humbling  work  of  swaping,  at  all,  at 
all ;  and  it's  I  that  shall  make  a  "  clish  ma  claver,"  an'  it's  not 
stopped — indade  I  shall !  (Somebody  knocks) 

(Isaac  steps  to  the  door,  and  returning  says,)  Esq.  Snyder  wishes 
to  see  you,  sir. 

MASTER.  (Smiling.)  Well,  ask  Mr.  Snyder  to  step  in ; — we 
may  as  well  have  a  regular  court  of  it ! 

(Isaac  waits  upon  him  in,  leading  Jonas,  with  his  hands  poulticed.) 

MASTER.  (Smiling.)    Good-morning,  Mr.  Snyder ;  walk  in,  sir  ! 

MR.  SNYDER.  (Rather  gentlemanly.)  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
my  interrupting  your  school ;  but  I  called  to  inquire  what 
Jonas,  here,  could  have  done,  that  you  bruised  him  up  at  such 
a  rate.  Poor  little  fellow !  he  came  home,  taking  on  as  if  his 
heart  would  break !  and  both  his  hands  swelled  up  bigger  than 
mine !  and  he  said  you  had  been  beating  him,  for  nothing !  I 
thought  I'd  come  up  and  inquire  into  it ;  for  I  don't  hold  to 
this  banging  and  abusing  children,  and  especially  when  they 
haven't  done  anything ;  though  I'm  a  friend  to  good  order. 

MASTER.  I  was  not  aware  that  I  punished  him  very  severely, 
sir. 

MR.  SNYDER.  Oh  !  It  was  dreadfully  severe !  Why,  the  poor 
little  fellow's  hands  pained  him  so  that  his  mother  had  to 
poultice  them,  and  sit  up  with  him  all  night!  and  this  morning 
she  wanted  to  come  up  to  school  with  him  herself;  but  I  told 
her  I  guessed  she  better  let  me  come. — Jonas,  do  your  hands 
ache  now,  dear? 

JONAS.  (Holding  them  both  out  together.)  Oh !  dreadfully ! 
They  feel  as  if  they  were  in  the  fire ! 

MR.  SNYDER.  Well,  dear,  keep  composed ;  don't  cry,  dear. 
Now,  sir,  (addressing  the  Master,)  this  was  all  for  nothing ! 

MASTER.  No,  sir !     It  was  for  something,  I  am  thinking  ! 

JONAS.  I  say  I  did  not  do  nothing  !  so  there  now !  (Somebody 
knocks.) 

MASTER.  Gentlemen,    sit    down.      (Looking  perplexed.)      Sit 


238  DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE 

down,  sir.  Give  me  a  little  time,  and  I'll  endeavor  to  set  the 
matter  right.  ( All  sitting  down  but  the  boys.) 

MR.  SNYDER.  Why,  I  don't  wish  to  make  a  serious  matter  of 
it.  I  shan't  prosecute  you.  I  was  only  going  to  ask  if  you 
couldn't  devise  some  other  kind  of  punishment  than  pommel- 
ing. If  you'd  made  him  stop  after  school,  or  set  him  to  sweep- 
ing the  house,  or  scouring  the  benches,  or  even  whipped  him 
with  a  cowhide  or  switch-stick,  I  should  not  have  complained ; 
but  I  don't  like  this  beating  boys !  (Knocking  again.) 

MASTER.  Isaac,  go  and  see  who  is  at  the  door. 

(Exit  Isaac ;  enter  Mr.  Le  Compte  and  Jacques.) 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  Ha !  Monsieur  Tutor.  I  have  one  ver  leetle 
complainte  to  make  against  your — vot  you  call  him — your 
discipleen. 

MASTER.  Ah !  indeed,  and  what  is  that,  sir  ? 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  Why  mys  boy  have  not  dse  right  in-cli-na- 
tshon  for  dse  shastisement  vot  you  give  him. 

MASTER.  Very  likely,  sir.  Very  few  boys  have  an  inclina- 
tion for  a  chastisement. 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  You  see,  Monsieur,  de — vot  you  call  his 
name — de  furule  vot  you  use  on  him  wizout  ceremume,  is  for 
certainment  not  so  good  for  my  boy  as  a  leetle  parswashon 
would  be. 

MASTER.  But,  sir,  I  cannot  spend  time  in  persuading  boys  to 
do  right.  I  find  it  necessary  to  make  them  afraid  to  do  wrong ; 
and  as  your  son  is  so  full  of  mischievous  pranks,  I  find  that  I 
only  can  restrain  him  by  a  free  use  of  proper  punishment. 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  I  has  not  seen  de  mischeeve  in  him  vot  you 
speak  of.  He  is  von  (scratches  his  head  to  think  of  the  word) — 
von — vot  you  call  a  man  vot  has  not  drank  dse  wine  ? 

MASTER.  Sober,  I  suppose  you  mean. 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  Ah,  dat's  ze  word — von  ver  sobar  boy,  and 
zerefore  does  not  deserve  de  cas-ti-ga-tshon  vot  you  gives  him 
for  mischeeve.  (Jacques  pins  an  old  rag  upon  the  father's  coat  and 
steps  back  and  laughs.  The  other  boys  point  to  the  Frenchman  and 
laugh.) 


TEE  SCHOOLMASTER  239 

MR.  FOSDICK.  Mr.  Le  Compte,  what's  that  you  have  pinned 
to  your  coat  ? 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  On  me  coat?  vere?  (Looks round.)  On  de  tail 
of  my  coat,  von  ver  bad  boy  pinned  him  dere.  Who  vas  it  ? 

FOSDICK.  Your  hopeful  son,  Jacques. 

MR.  LE  COMPTE.  Jacques,  you  be  von  grand  leetle  scoundrel 
and  deserve  all  the  shastisement  vot  the  tutor  gives  you.  (To 
the  Master)  If  you  will  lend  me  de  instrument  vot  you  shastise 
with,  I'll  teach  him  to  have  respect  for  his  father. 

MASTER.  Be  calm,  sir ;  be  calm,  sir.  Be  good  enough  to  sit 
down  and  I'll  endeavor  to  define  my  position.  And  now,  gentle- 
men, (bowing)  I  think  we  may  each  of  us  begin  to  see  the 
beauty  of  variety,  especially  in  the  matter  of  opinion.  That 
you  may  all  understand  the  whole  case,  I  will  state  in  a  few 
words  the  facts,  as  they  actually  occurred.  Day  before  yester- 
day, our  young  friend  Jacques  (pointing  to  him)  was  playing  his 
favorite  trick  of  hanging  his  rag  signal  upon  a  schoolmate, 
after  the  fashion  in  which  he  has  here  so  filially  served  his 
father  within  a  few  minutes;  and  standing  near  him  at  the 
time,  with  my  whip  in  hand,  I  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  salute  his  mischievous  knuckles  with  a  well-directed 
stroke,  which,  however  effectually  it  may  have  cut  his  own 
fingers  and  his  father's  sensibilities,  it  seems  has  not  cut  off  his 
ruling  propensity.  Yesterday  was  emphatically  a  day  of  sin- 
ning on  my  part.  Jonas  Snyder,  whose  little  hands  have 
swelled  to  such  enormous  magnitude,  was  often  reproved  for 
constant  idleness  ;  and  after  all  this,  when  he  threw  a  portion  of 
an  apple  at  a  more  industrious  boy,  thus  disturbing  many  of 
those  well-disposed  boys,  he  was  called  and  feruled,  receiving 
six  strokes — three  on  each  hand — with  the  rule  I  now  show  you. 
Little  Patrick  O'Clary  was  required  to  sweep  the  schoolroom 
floor,  for  a  strong  instance  of  tardiness  at  recess ;  and  this  pun- 
ishment was  given,  because  I  did  not  wish  to  inflict  a  severer 
one  upon  so  small  a  lad.  And  last,  this  little  fellow  (pointing  to 
William  Fosdick)  was  detained,  in  common  with  seven  others, 
to  learn  a  lesson  which  he  neglected  to  learn  at  the  proper  time. 


240  DAVID  PERKINS  PAGE 

Such  are  the  facts.  And  yet  each  of  you  has  assured  me  that 
I  have  incurred  your  displeasure  by  using  a  punishment  you 
disapprove,  and  "  all  for  nothing."  You  have  each  one  taken 
the  trouble  to  come  to  this  room,  to  render  my  task — already 
sufficiently  perplexing — still  more  so,  by  giving  parental  sup- 
port to  childish  complaints,  and  imparting  your  censure,  in  no 
measured  terms,  upon  the  instructor  of  your  children.  But 
this  is  a  most  interesting  case.  You  all  happen  to  be  here 
together,  and  you  thus  give  me  the  opportunity  I  have  long 
wished  to  show  you  your  own  inconsistencies. 

It  is  easy  to  complain  of  your  teacher ;  but  perhaps  either 
of  you,  in  your  wisdom,  would  find  it  not  quite  so  easy  to  take 
my  place  and  escape  censure.  How  would  either  of  you  have 
got  along  in  the  present  instance?  Mr.  Fosdick,  who  is  dis- 
pleased with  detention  after  school,  would  have,  according  to 
his  own  recommendation,  resorted  to  "  licking,"  either  with 
ferule  or  whip.  In  this  case,  he  would  have  incurred  the 
censure  of  his  friends,  Esq.  Snyder  and  Mr.  Le  Compte.  The 
"  squire,"  in  turn,  would  have  raised  the  displeasure  of  both  his 
friends,  by  resorting  to  his  favorite  mode  of  detaining  and  cow- 
hiding.  Mr.  O'Clary  would  give  the  "  spalpeens  "  a  "  bating," 
as  he  says,  after  his  own  peculiar  fashion,  with  which  the  squire 
and  Mr.  Le  Compte  could  not  have  been  over-much  pleased ; — 
and  Mr.  Le  Compte — ay,  Mr.  Le  Compte — if  we  may  judge 
from  the  exhibition  he  has  just  given  us,  would  have  displeased 
even  himself,  by  proving  to  be  what  he  most  of  all  things 
detests — a  champion-  of  the  cowhide.  But  what  is  a  little 
curious,  as  it  appears,  is,  that  while  I  have  not  carried  out  the 
favorite  scheme  of  either  one  of  you, — which  we  have  already 
seen,  would  be  objectionable  to  each  of  the  others, — but  have 
adopted  a  variety  of  punishments,  and  the  very  variety  which 
your  own  collective  suffrage  would  fix  upon,  I  have  got  myself 
equally  deep  into  hot  water ;  and  the  grand  question  is  now, 
what  shall  I  do?  If  I  take  the  course  suggested  by  you  collect- 
ively, the  result  is  the  same.  I  see  no  other  way  but  to  take 
my  own  course,  performing  conscientiously  my  duties,  in  their 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  241 

time  and  after  their  manner,  and  then  to  demand  of  you,  and 
all  others,  the  right  of  being  sustained  ! 

MR.  SNYDER.  Well,  gentlemen,  my  opinion  is,  that  we  have 
been  tried  and  condemned  by  our  own  testimony,  and  there  is 
no  appeal.  My  judgment  approves  the  master ;  and  hereafter  I 
shall  neither  hear  nor  make  any  more  complaints.  Jonas,  (turn- 
ing to  Jonas,}  my  son,  if  the  master  is  willing,  you  may  go  home 
and  tell  your  mother  to  take  off  those  poultices,  and  then  do 
you  come  to  school  and  do  as  you  are  told ;  and  if  I  hear  of 
any  more  of  your  complaints,  I  will  double  the  dose  you  may 
receive  at  school. 

MR.  O'C.  And  sure,  Master,  Paddy  O'Clary  is  not  the  man  to 
resist  authority  in  the  new  country;  and  bless  your  sowl,  if 
you'll  make  my  little  spalpeen  but  a  good  boy,  it's  I  that  will 
kindly  remember  the  favor,  though  ye  make  him  swape  until 
nixt  Christmas  !  Here,  Patrick,  down  upon  the  little  knees  of 
your  own,  and  crave  the  master's  forgiveness. 

MASTER.  No,  sir;  that  I  shall  not  allow.  I  ask  no  one  to 
kneel  to  me.  I  shall  only  require  that  he  correct  his  past 
faults,  and  obey  me  in  future. 

MR.  O'C.  It's  an  ungrateful  child  he  would  be,  if  ever  again 
he  should  be  after  troubling  so  kind  a  master.  St.  Patrick 
bless  ye  !  (Taking  little  Pat  by  the  hand,  they  go  out.) 

MR.  FOSDICK.  (Taking  the  Master  by  the  hand,  pleasantly.)  Sir, 
I  hope  I  shall  profit  by  this  day's  lesson.  I  have  only  to  say, 
that  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  we  are  all  wrong ;  and  that  is,  per- 
haps, the  best  assurance  I  can  give  you,  that  I  think  you  are 
right.  That's  all  I  have  to  say.  (Exeunt.) 
e.  M.— 16 


WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY 

1811  -1863 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY,  one  of  the  greatest  of  modern 
novelists,  was  born  at  Calcutta,  India,  in  1811,  and  was  the  son  of  an 
English  government  official.  He  was  educated  in  England,  at  the 
Charter  House  School,  in  London,  and  at  Cambridge,  though  he  did 
not  take  a  degree  at  the  University.  For  some  years  he  traveled  in 
Europe,  and  made  a  study  of  art,  intending  to  be  a  painter.  Investing 
his  fortune  in  a  newspaper  enterprise,  he  lost  heavily,  and  then  turned 
his  attention  to  literature  for  a  support.  In  1846  he  published  the  first 
number  of  "  Vanity  Fair,"  which  became  popular  at  once.  This  was 
followed  by  "  Pendennis,"  "  Esmond,"  "  The  Newcomes,"  and  "  The 
Virginians."  From  1860  to  1862,  Thackeray  was  editor  of  the  Cornhill 
Magazine.  Thackeray  was  a  pleasing  lecturer,  an  able  critic,  arid  a 
favorite  in  the  social  world.  He  died  suddenly  on  Christmas  Eve,  1863. 

"  He  went  out  Wednesday  for  a  little,  and  came  home  at  ten.  He 
went  to  his  room,  suffering  much,  but  declining  his  man's  offer  to  sit 
with  him.  He  hated  to  make  others  suffer.  He  was  heard  moaning, 
as  if  in  pain,  about  twelve  on  the  eve  of  Christmas  morning.  Then 
all  was  quiet,  and  then  he  must  have  died — in  a  moment.  Next  morn- 
ing his  man  went  in  and,  opening  the  windows,  found  his  master  dead, 
his  arms  behind  his  head,  as  if  he  had  tried  to  take  one  more  breath. 
We  think  of  him  as  of  our  Chalmers,  found  dead  in  like  manner  ;  the 
same  childlike,  unspoiled,  open  face  ;  the  same  gentle  mouth  ;  the 
same  spaciousness  and  softness  of  nature  ;  the  same  look  of  power. 
What  a  thing  to  think  of — alone  in  the  dark,  in  the  midst  of  his  own 
mighty  London  :  his  mother  and  his  daughters  asleep,  and,  it  may  be, 
dreaming  of  his  goodness.  God  help  them  and  us  all." 

JOHN  BROWN. 

Characterization 

It  was  by  "Vanity  Fair"  that  Thackeray  first  made  for  himself  a 

really  great  reputation.     He  was  previously  well  known  by  many  as  a 

clever  and  brilliant  writer  in  Fraser  and  in  Punch.    He  had  published 

various  stories  and  books  of  sketches,  and  Christmas  books.     "  Vanity 

242 


MI88  PINKERTON'S  SCHOOL    ON  CHISWICK  MALL       243 

Fair  "  was  his  first  long  novel.  It  stands  rather  by  itself  ;  it  is  a  com- 
pendium of  Thackeray's  so-called  cynicism — a  primer  of  the  philos- 
ophy. No  other  of  his  novels  has  so  much  of  his  philosophy,  pure 
and  simple.  It  is  little  more  than  a  study  of  character, — the  plot 
is  of  the  slightest.  The  constant  theme  seems  to  be,  how  stupid  and 
ridiculous  are  the  good,  how  clever  and  successful  are  the  bad,  and 
yet  how  plain  it  must  be  to  everyone  that  the  bad  do  not  always  pros- 
per, and  that  the  good  probably  enjoy  being  stupid  and  ridiculous,  and 
so  that  everything  is  well  enough.  Thackeray  is  remorseless  in  "  Van- 
ity Fair."  There  is  no  good  trait  in  Becky,  only  cleverness  and 
wickedness  ;  there  is  no  mercy  for  Amelia  ;  she  must  be  plain  and 
slow,  though  good  and  loving.  Even  the  hero,  who  is  truly  good  and 
noble,  who  waits  and  waits,  patiently  befriending  the  woman  he  loves, 
till  she  will  marry  him, — even  he,  because  he  is  good,  must  be  ridicu- 
lous ;  otherwise,  why  is  he  called  Dobbin  ?  The  general  run  of  the 
world  of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  is  bad,  and  those  who  are  good  hardly  get 
their  deserts.  To  many  this  is  the  best  of  Thackeray's  books. 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

Miss   Pinkerton's    School   on   Chiswick   Mall 

(From  "  Vanity  Fair  ") 

While  the  present  century  was  in  its  teens,  and  on  one  sun- 
shiny morning  in  June,  there  drove  up  to  the  great  iron  gate  of 
Miss  Pinkerton's  academy  for  young  ladies,  on  Chiswick  Mall, 
a  large  family  coach,  with  two  fat  horses  in  blazing  harness, 
driven  by  a  fat  coachman  in  a  three-cornered  hat  and  wig,  at  the 
rate  of  four  miles  an  hour.  A  black  servant,  who  reposed  on 
the  box  beside  the  fat  coachman,  uncurled  his  bandy  legs  as 
soon  as  the  equipage  drew  up  opposite  Miss  Pinkerton's  shining 
brass  plate,  and  as  he  pulled  the  bell,  at  least  a  score  of  young 
heads  were  seen  peering  out  of  the  narrow  windows  of  the 
stately  old  brick  house.  Nayr  the  acute  observer  might  have 
recognized  the  little  red  nose  of  good-natured  Miss  Jemima 
Pinkerton  herself,  rising  over  some  geranium  pots  in  the  win 
dow  of  that  lady's  own  drawing-room. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Sedley's  coach,  sister,"  said  Miss  Jemima.  "  Sambo, 
the  black  servant,  has  just  rung  the  bell,  and  the  coachman 
has  a  new  red  waistcoat." 


244  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

"  Have  you  completed  all  the  necessary  preparations  incident 
to  Miss  Sedley's  departure,  Miss  Jemima  ?  "  asked  Miss  Pinker- 
ton  herself,  that  majestic  lady ;  the  Semiramis  of  Hammer- 
smith, the  friend  of  Doctor  Johnson,  the  correspondent  of  Mrs. 
Chapone  herself. 

"  The  girls  were  up  at  four  this  morning,  packing  her 
trunks,  sister,"  replied  Miss  Jemima ;  "  we  have  made  her  a 
bow-pot." 

"  Say  a  bouquet,  Sister  Jemima,  'tis  more  genteel." 

"  Well,  a  booky  as  big  almost  as  a  haystack.  I  have  put  up 
two  bottles  of  the  gillyflower  water  for  Mrs.  Sedley,  and  the 
receipt  for  making  it,  in  Amelia's  box." 

"  And  I  trust,  Miss  Jemima,  you  have  made  a  copy  of  Miss 
Sedley's  account.  This  is  it,  is  it?  Very  good — ninety-three 
pounds,  four  shillings.  Be  kind  enough  to  address  it  to  John 
Sedley,  Esq.,  and  to  seal  this  billet  which  I  have  written  to  his 
lady." 

In  Miss  Jemima's  eyes  an  autograph  letter  of  her  sister,  Miss 
Pmkerton,  was  an  object  of  as  deep  veneration  as  would  have 
been  a  letter  from  a  sovereign.  Only  when  her  pupils  quitted 
the  establishment,  or  when  they  were  about  to  be  married,  and 
once,  when  poor  Miss  Birch  died  of  the  scarlet  fever,  was  Miss 
Pinkerton  known  to  write  personally  to  the  parents  of  her 
pupils;  and  it  was  Jemima's  opinion  that  if  anything  could 
console  Mrs.  Birch  for  her  daughter's  loss,  it  would  be  that 
pious  and  eloquent  composition  in  which  Miss  Pinkerton  an- 
nounced the  event. 

In  the  present  instance  Miss  Pinkerton's  "  billet  "  was  to  the 
following  effect : 

"THE  MALL,  CHISWICK,  June  15,  18 — . 

"MADAM, — After  her  six  years'  residence  at  the  Mall,  I  have  the 
honor  and  happiness  of  presenting  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  to  her  parents, 
as  a  young  lady  not  unworthy  to  occupy  a  fitting  position  in  their 
polished  and  refined  circle.  Those  virtues  which  characterize  the 
young  English  gentlewoman,  those  accomplishments  which  become 
her  birth  and  station,  will  not  be  found  wanting  in  the  amiable  Miss 
Sedley,  whose  industry  and  obedience  have  endeared  her  to  her  instruc- 


MISS  PINKERTON'S  SCHOOL   ON  CHISWICK  MALL       245 

tors,  and  whose  delightful  sweetness  of  temper  has  charmed  her  aged 
and  her  youthful  companions. 

"  In  music,  in  dancing,  in  orthography,  in  every  variety  of  embroid- 
ery and  needlework,  she  will  be  found  to  have  realized  her  friends' 
fondest  wishes.  In  geography  there  is  still  much  to  be  desired ;  and  a 
careful  and  undeviating  use  of  the  backboard,  for  four  hours  daily 
during  the  next  three  years,  is  recommended  as  necessary  to  the  ac- 
quirement of  that  dignified  deportment  and  carriage,  so  requisite  for 
every  young  lady  of  fashion. 

' '  In  the  principles  of  religion  and  morality,  Miss  Sedley  will  be 
found  worthy  of  an  establishment  which  has  been  honored  by  the 
presence  of  The  Great  Lexicographer  and  the  patronage  of  the  ad- 
mirable Mrs.  Chapone.  In  leaving  the  Mall,  Miss  Amelia  carries  with 
her  the  hearts  of  her  companions,  and  the  affectionate  regards  of  her 
mistress  who  has  the  honor  to  subscribe  herself,  madam, 
"  Your  most  obliged  humble  servant, 

"  BARBARA  PINKERTON. 

"P.  S. — Miss  Sharp  accompanies  Miss  Sedley.  It  is  particularly  re- 
quested that  Miss  Sharp's  stay  in  Eussell  Square  may  not  exceed  ten 
days.  The  family  of  distinction  with  whom  she  is  engaged  desire  to 
avail  themselves  of  her  services  as  soon  as  possible." 

This  letter  completed,  Miss  Pinkerton  proceeded  to  write  her 
own  name  and  Miss  Sedley 's  in  the  fly-leaf  of  a  "  Johnson's 
Dictionary  " — the  interesting  work  which  she  invariably  pre- 
sented to  her  scholars,  on  their  departure  from  the  Mall.  On 
the  cover  was  inserted  a  copy  of  "  Lines  addressed  to  a  young 
lady  on  quitting  Miss  Pinkerton's  school  at  the  Mall ;  by  the 
late  revered  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson."  In  fact  the  Lexicographer's 
name  was  always  on  the  lips  of  this  majestic  woman,  and  a 
visit  he  had  paid  to  her  was  the  cause  of  her  reputation  and 
her  fortune. 

Being  commanded  by  her  elder  sister  to  get  the  "  Dixionary  " 
from  the  cupboard,  Miss  Jemima  had  extracted  two  copies  of 
the  book  from  the  receptacle  in  question.  When  Miss  Pinker- 
tori  had  finished  the  inscription  in  the  first,  Jemima,  with 
rather  a  dubious  and  timid  air,  handed  her  the  second. 

"  For  whom  is  this,  Miss  Jemima  ?  "  said  Miss  Pinkerton^ 
with  awful  coldness. 


246  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

"  For  Becky  Sharp,"  answered  Jemima,  trembling  very  much, 
and  blushing  over  her  withered  face  and  neck,  as  she  turned 
her  back  on  her  sister — "  for  Becky  Sharp ;  she's  going 
too." 

"  MISS  JEMIMA  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Pinkerton,  in  the  larg- 
est capitals.  "  Are  you  in  your  senses  ?  Replace  the  '  dixion- 
ary  '  in  the  closet,  and  never  venture  to  take  such  a  liberty  in 
future." 

"  Well,  sister,  it's  only  two  and  ninepence,  and  poor  Becky 
will  be  miserable  if  she  don't  get  one." 

"  Send  Miss  Sedley  instantly  to  me,"  said  Miss  Pinkerton. 
And  so  venturing  not  to  say  another  word,  poor  Jemima 
trotted  off,  exceedingly  flurried  and  nervous. 

Miss  Sedley's  papa  was  a  merchant  in  London,  and  a  man  of 
some  wealth ;  whereas  Miss  Sharp  was  an  articled  pupil,  for 
whom  Miss  Pinkerton  had  done,  as  she  thought,  quite  enough, 
without  conferring  upon  her  at  parting  the  high  honor  of  the 
"  Dixionary." 

Although  schoolmistresses'  letters  are  to  be  trusted  no  more 
nor  less  than  churchyard  epitaphs;  yet,  as  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  a  person  departs  this  life  who  is  really  deserving  of 
all  the  praises  that  the  stone-cutter  carves  over  his  bones ;  who 
is  a  good  Christian,  a  good  parent,  child,  wife,  or  husband  ;  who 
actually  does  leave  a  disconsolate  family  to  mourn  his  loss ;  so 
in  academies  of  the  male  and  female  sex  it  occurs  every  now 
and  then  that  the  pupil  is  fully  worthy  of  the  praises  bestowed 
by  the  disinterested  instructor.  Now,  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  was 
a  young  lady  of  this  singular  species,  and  deserved  not  only 
all  that  Miss  Pinkerton  said  in  her  praise,  but  had  many 
charming  qualities  which  that  pompous  old  Minerva  of  a 
woman  could  not  see,  from  the  differences  of  rank  and  age 
between  her  pupil  and  herself. 

For  she  could  not  only  sing  like  a  lark,  or  a  Mrs.  Billington, 
and  dance  like  Hillisberg  or  Parisot,  and  embroider  beautifully, 
and  spell  as  well  as  a  dictionary  itself;  but  she  had  such  a 
kindly,  smiling,  tender,  gentle,  generous  heart  of  her  own,  as 


MISS  PINKERTON'S  SCHOOL    ON  CHISWICK  MALL       247 

won  the  love  of  everybody  who  came  near  her,  from  Minerva 
down  to  the  poor  girl  in  the  scullery,  and  the  one-eyed  tart 
woman's  daughter,  who  was  permitted  to  vend  her  wares  once 
a  week  to  the  young  ladies  in  the  Mall.  She  had  twelve  inti- 
mate and  bosom  friends  out  of  the  twenty-four  young  ladies. 
Even  envious  Miss  Briggs  never  spoke  ill  of  her;  high  and 
mighty  Miss  Saltire  (Lord  Dexter 's  granddaughter)  allowed 
that  her  figure  was  genteel ;  and  as  for  Miss  Swartz,  the  rich 
woolly-haired  mulatto  from  St.  Kitt's,  on  the  day  Amelia  went 
away,  she  was  in  such  a  passion  of  tears  that  they  were  obliged 
to  send  for  Dr.  Floss,  and  half  tipsify  her  with  sal-volatile. 
Miss  Pinkerton's  attachment  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  from  the 
high  position  and  eminent  virtues  of  that  lady,  calm  and  dig- 
nified ;  but  Miss  Jemima  had  already  whimpered  several  times 
at  the  idea  of  Amelia's  departure ;  and  but  for  fear  of  her  sister, 
would  have  gone  off  in  downright  hysterics,  like  the  heiress 
(who  paid  double)  of  St.  Kitt's.  Such  luxury  of  grief,  however, 
is  only  allowed  to  parlor  boarders.  Honest  Jemima  had  all  the 
bills;  and  the  washing,  and  the  mending,  and  the  puddings, 
and  the  plate  and  crockery,  and  the  servants  to  superintend. 
But  why  speak  about  her  ?  It  is  probable  that  we  shall  not 
hear  of  her  again  from  this  moment  to  the  end  of  time,  and 
that,  when  the  great  filigree  iron  gates  are  once  closed  on  her, 
she  and  her  awful  sister  will  never  issue  therefrom  into  this 
little  world  of  history. 

But  as  we  are  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Amelia,  there  is  no  harm 
in  saying,  at  the  outset  of  our  acquaintance,  that  she  was  a 
dear  little  creature  ;  and  a  great  mercy  it  is,  both  in  life  and  in 
novels,  which  (and  the  latter  especially)  abound  in  villains  of 
the  most  somber  sort,  that  we  are  to  have  for  a  constant  com- 
panion so  guileless  and  good-natured  a  person.  As  she  is  not  a 
heroine,  there  is  no  need  to  describe  her  person  ;  indeed,  I  am 
afraid  that  her  nose  was  rather  short  than  otherwise,  and  her 
cheeks  a  great  deal  too  round  and  red  for  a  heroine ;  but  her 
face  blushed  with  rosy  health,  and  her  lips  with  the  freshest  of 
smiles,  and  she  had  a  pair  of  eyes  which  sparkled  with  the 


248  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

brightest  and  honestest  good-humor,  except,  indeed,  when  they 
filled  with  tears,  and  that  was  a  great  deal  too  often ;  'for  the 
silly  thing  would  cry  over  a  dead  canary-bird  ;  or  over  a  mouse, 
that  the  cat  haply  had  seized  upon ;  or  over  the  end  of  a  novel, 
were  it  ever  so  stupid ;  and  as  for  saying  an  unkind  word  to 
her,  were  any  persons  hard-hearted  enough  to  do  so — why,  so 
much  the  worse  for  them.  Even  Miss  Pinkerton,  that  austere 
and  god-like  woman,  ceased  scolding  her  after  the  first  time, 
and  though  she  no  more  comprehended  sensibility  than  she  did 
algebra,  gave  all  masters  and  teachers  particular  orders  to  treat 
Miss  Sedley  with  the  utmost  gentleness,  as  harsh  treatment  was 
injurious  to  her. 

So  that  when  the  day  of  departure  came,  between  her  two 
customs  of  laughing  and  crying,  Miss  Sedley  was  greatly  puz- 
zled how  to  act.  She  was  glad  to  go  home,  and  yet  most 
wofully  sad  at  leaving  school.  For  three  days  before,  little 
Laura  Martin,  the  orphan,  followed  her  about  like  a  little  dog. 
She  had  to  make  and  receive  at  least  fourteen  presents — to 
make  fourteen  solemn  promises  of  WTiting  every  week  :  "  Send 
my  letters  under  cover  to  my  grandpapa,  the  Earl  of  Dexter," 
said  Miss  Saltire  (who,  by  the  way,  was  rather  shabby).  "  Never 
mind  the  postage,  but  write  every  day,  you  dear  darling,"  said 
the  impetuous  and  "woolly-headed,  but  generous  and  affection- 
ate Miss  Swartz ;  and  the  orphan,  little  Laura  Martin  (who  was 
just  in  round-hand)  took  her  friend's  hand  and  said,  looking 
up  in  her  face  wistfully,  "  Amelia,  when  I  write  to  you,  I  shall 
call  you  mamma."  All  which  details,  I  have  no  doubt,  JONES, 
who  reads  this  book  at  his  club,  will  pronounce  to  be  excess- 
ively foolish,  trivial,  twaddling,  and  ultra-sentimental.  Yes; 
I  can  see  Jones  at  this  minute  (rather  flushed  with  his  joint  of 
mutton  and  half-pint  of  wine),  taking  out  his  pencil  and  scoring 
under  the  words  "  foolish,  twaddling,"  etc.,  and  adding  to  them 
his  own  remark  of  "quite  true."  Well,  he  is  a  lofty  man  of 
genius,  and  admires  the  great  and  heroic  in  life  and  novels,  and 
so  had  better  take  warning  and  go  elsewhere. 

Well,  then.     The  flowers,  and  the  presents,  and  the  trunks, 


MISS  PINKERTON'S  SCHOOL    ON  CHISWICK  MALL       249 

and  bonnet  boxes  of  Miss  Sedley  having  been  arranged  by  Mr. 
Sambo  in  the  carriage  together  with  a  very  small  and  weather- 
beaten  old  cow's-skin  trunk,  with  Miss  Sharp's  card  neatly 
nailed  upon  it,  which  was  delivered  by  Sambo  with  a  grin,  and 
packed  by  the  coachman  with  a  corresponding  sneer — the  hour 
for  parting  came ;  and  the  grief  of  that  moment  was  consider- 
ably lessened  by  the  admirable  discourse  which  Miss  Pinkerton 
addressed  to  her  pupil.  Not  that  the  parting  speech  caused 
Amelia  to  philosophize,  or  that  it  armed  her  in  any  way  with 
calmness,  the  result  of  argument ;  but  it  was  intolerably  dull, 
pompous,  and  tedious;  and  having  the  fear  of  her  schoolmis- 
tress greatly  before  her  eyes,  Miss  Sedley  did  not  venture,  in  her 
presence,  to  give  way  to  any  ebullitions  of  private  grief.  A 
seed-cake  and  a  bottle  of  wine  were  produced  in  the  drawing- 
room,  as  on  the  solemn  occasions  of  the  visit  of  parents,  and 
these  refreshments  being  partaken  of,  Miss  Sedley  was  at  liberty 
to  depart. 

"  You'll  go  in  and  say  good-by  to  Miss  Pinkerton,  Becky !  " 
said  Miss  Jemima  to  a  young  lady  of  whom  nobody  took  any 
notice,  and  who  was  coming  down-stairs  with  her  own  band- 
box. 

"  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  Miss  Sharp,  calmly,  and  much  to 
the  wonder  of  Miss  Jemima ;  and  the  latter  having  knocked  at 
the  door  and  receiving  permission  to  come  in,  Miss  Sharp  ad- 
vanced in  a  very  unconcerned  manner,  and  said  in  French,  and 
with  a  perfect  accent : 

"  Mademoiselle,  je  viens  vous  faire  mes  adieux." 

Miss  Pinkerton  did  not  understand  French  ;  she  only  di- 
rected those  who  did ;  but  biting  her  lips  and  throwing  up  her 
venerable  and  Roman-nosed  head  (on  top  of  which  figured  a 
large  and  solemn  turban),  she  said,  "  Miss  Sharp,  I  wish  you  a 
good-morning."  As  the  Hammersmith  Semiramis  spoke,  she 
waved  one  hand  both  by  way  of  adieu,  and  to  give  Miss  Sharp 
an  opportunity  of  shaking  one  of  the  fingers  of  the  hand  which 
was  left  out  for  that  purpose. 

Miss  Sharp  only  folded  her  own  hands  with  a  very  frigid 


250  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

smile  and  bow,  and  quite  declined  to  accept  the  proffered 
honor ;  on  which  Semiramis  tossed  up  her  turban  more  indig- 
nantly than  ever.  In  fact  it  was  a  little  battle  between  the 
young  lady  and  the  old  one,  and  the  latter  was  worsted. 
"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  child,"  said  she,  embracing  Amelia, 
and  scowling  the  while  over  the  girl's  shoulder  at  Miss  Sharp. 
"  Come  away,  Becky,"  said  Miss  Jemima,  pulling  the  young 
woman  away  in  great  alarm,  and  the  drawing-room  door  closed 
upon  them  forever. 

Then  came  the  struggle  and  parting  below.  Words  refuse 
to  tell  it.  All  the  servants  were  there  in  the  hall — all  the  dear 
friends — all  the  young  ladies — the  dancing-master  who  had 
just  arrived  ;  and  there  was  such  a  scuffling,  and  hugging,  and 
kissing,  and  crying,  with  the  hysterical  yoops  of  Miss  Swartz, 
the  parlor-boarder,  from  her  room,  as  no  pen  can  depict,  and  as 
the  tender  heart  would  fain  pass  over.  The  embracing  was 
over ;  they  parted — that  is,  Miss  Sedley  parted  from  her  friends. 
Miss  Sharp  had  demurely  entered  the  carriage  some  minutes 
before.  Nobody  cried  for  leaving  her. 

Sambo  of  the  bandy  legs  slammed  the  carriage-door  on  his 
young  weeping  mistress.  He  sprang  up  behind  the  carriage. 
"  Stop  !  "  cried  Miss  Jemima,  rushing  to  the  gate  with  a  parcel. 

"  It's  some  sandwiches,  my  dear,"  said  she  to  Amelia.  "  You 
may  be  hungry,  you  know ;  and  Becky,  Becky  Sharp,  here's  a 
book  for  you  that  my  sister — that  is  I — '  Johnson's  Dixionary/ 
you  know ;  you  mustn't  leave  us  without  that.  Good-by.  Drive 
on,  coachman.  God  bless  you ! " 

And  the  kind  creature  retreated  into  the  garden,  overcome 
with  emotions. 

But  lo !  and  just  as  the  coach  drove  off,  Miss  Sharp  put  her 
pale  face  out  of  the  window,  and  actually  flung  the  book  back 
into  the  garden. 

This  almost  caused  Jemima  to  faint  with  terror.  "Well,  I 
never  " — said  she — "  what  an  audacious  " — emotion  prevented 
her  from  completing  either  sentence.  The  carriage  rolled  away ; 
the  great  gates  were  closed ;  the  bell  rang  for  the  dancing  les- 


251 

son.     The  world  is  before  the  two  young  ladies ;  and  so,  fare- 
well to  Chiswick  Mall. 

When  Miss  Sharp  had  performed  the  heroical  act  mentioned 
in  the  last  chapter,  and  had  seen  the  "  Dixionary,"  flying  over 
the  pavement  of  the  little  garden,  fall  at  length  at  the  feet  of 
the  astonished  Miss  Jemima,  the, young  lady's  countenance, 
which  had  before  worn  an  almost  livid  look  of  hatred,  assumed 
a  smile  that  perhaps  was  scarcely  more  agreeable,  and  she  sank 
back  in  the  carriage  in  an  easy  frame  of  mind,  saying,  "  So  much 
for  the  '  Dixionary ; '  and,  thank  God,  I'm  out  of  Chiswick." 

Miss  Sedley  was  almost  as  flurried  at  the  act  of  defiance  as 
Miss  Jemima  had  been ;  for  consider,  it  was  but  one  minute 
that  she  had  left  school,  and  the  impressions  of  six  years  are 
not  got  over  in  that  space  of  time.  Nay,  with  some  persons 
those  awes  and  terrors  of  youth  last  forever  and  ever.  I  know, 
for  instance,  an  old  gentleman  of  sixty-eight,  who  said  to  me 
one  morning  at  breakfast,  with  a  very  agitated  countenance, 
"  I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  was  flogged  by  Dr.  Raine."  Fancy 
had  carried  him  back  five-and-fifty  years  in  the  course  of  that 
evening.  Dr.  Raine  and  his  rod  were  just  as  awful  to  him  in 
his  heart  then  at  sixty-eight,  as  they  had  been  at  thirteen.  If 
the  doctor,  with  a  large  birch,  had  appeared  bodily  to  him,  even 
at  the  age  of  threescore  and  eight,  and  had  said  in  awful  voice, 

"  Boy,  take  down  your  pant "  Well,  well,  Miss  Sedley  was 

exceedingly  alarmed  at  this  act  of  insubordination. 

"  How  could  you  do  so,  Rebecca  ?  "  at  last  she  said,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Why,  do  you  think  Miss  Pinkerton  will  come  out  and  order 
me  back  to  the  black  hole  ?  "  said  Rebecca,  laughing. 

"No;  but— 

"  I  hate  the  whole  house,"  continued  Miss  Sharp  in  a  fury. 
"  I  hope  I  may  never  set  eyes  on  it  again.  I  wish  it  were  in 
the  bottom  of  the  Thames,  I  do;  and  if  Miss  Pinkerton  were 
there,  I  wouldn't  pick  her  out,  that  I  wouldn't.  Oh,  how  I  should 
like  to  see  her  floating  in  the  water  yonder,  turban  and  all, 


252  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

with  her  train  streaming  after  her,  and  her  nose  like  the  beak 
of  a  wherry  !  " 

"Hush!"  cried  Miss  Sedley. 

"Why,  will  the  black  footman  tell  tales?  "  cried  Miss  Rebecca, 
laughing.  "  He  may  go  back  and  tell  Miss  Pinkerton  that  I 
hate  her  with  all  my  soul ;  and  I  wish  he  would ;  and  I  wish  I 
had  a  means  of  proving  it,  t9o.  For  two  years  I  have  only  had 
insults  and  outrage  from  her.  I  have  been  treated  worse  than 
any  servant  in  the  kitchen.  I  have  never  had  a  friend  or  a 
kind  word,  except  from  you.  I  have  been  made  to  tend  the 
little  girls  in  the  lower  schoolroom,  and  to  talk  French  to  the 
Misses,  until  I  grew  sick  of  my  mother-tongue.  But  that  talk- 
ing French  to  Miss  Pinkerton  was  capital  fun,  wasn't  it  ?  She 
doesn't  know  a  word  of  French,  and  was  too  proud  to  confess  it. 
I  believe  it  was  that  which  made  her  part  with  me ;  and  so 
thank  Heaven  for  French.  Vive  la  France !  Vive  I'Empereur ! 
Vive  Bonaparte  !  " 

"  O  Rebecca,  Rebecca,  ,for  shame !  "  cried  Miss  Sedley ;  for 
this  was  the  greatest  blasphemy  Rebecca  had  as  yet  uttered : 
and  in  those  days  in  England  to  say,  "  Long  live  Bonaparte !  " 
was  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Long  live  Lucifer !  "  "  How  can  you, 
how  dare  you,  have  such  wicked,  revengeful  thoughts  ?  " 

"  Revenge  may  be  wicked,  but  it's  natural,"  answered  Miss 
Rebecca.  "  I'm  no  angel."  And,  to  say  the  truth,  she  certainly 
was  not. 

For  it  may  be  remarked  in  the  course  of  this  little  conversa- 
tion (which  took  place  as  the  coach  rolled  along  lazily  by  the 
river-side)  that  though  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp  has  twice  had  occa- 
sion to  thank  Heaven,  it  has  been,  in  the  first  place,  for  ridding 
her  of  some  person  whom  she  hated,  and  secondly,  for  enabling 
her  to  bring  her  enemies  to  some  sort  of  perplexity  or  confu- 
sion ;  neither  of  which  are  very  amiable  motives  for  religious 
gratitude,  or  such  as  would  be  put  forward  by  persons  of  a  kind 
and  placable  disposition.  Miss  Rebecca  was  not,  then,  in  the 
least  kind  or  placable.  All  the  world  used  her  ill,  said  this 
young  misanthropist,  and  we  may  be  pretty  certain  that  per- 


MISS  PINKE'RTON'8  SCHOOL    ON   CHISWICK  MALL       253 

sons  whom  all  the  world  treats  ill,  deserve  entirely  the  treat- 
ment they  get.  The  world  is  a  looking-glass,  and  gives  back 
to  every  man  the  reflection  of  his  own  face.  Frown  at  it,  and 
it  will  in  turn  look  sourly  upon  you ;  laugh  at  it,  and  with  it,  and 
it  is  a  jolly,  kind  companion ;  and  so  let  all  young  persons  take 
their  choice.  This  is  certain,  that  if  the  world  neglected  Miss 
Sharp,  she  never  was  known  to  have  done  a  good  action  in 
behalf  of  anybody ;  nor  can  it  be  expected  that  twenty -four 
young  ladies  should  all  be  as  amiable  as  the  heroine  of  this 
work,  Miss  Sedley  (whom  we  have  selected  for  the  very  reason 
that  she  was  the  best-natured  of  all,  otherwise  what  on  earth 
was  to  have  prevented  us  from  putting  up  Miss  Swartz,  or  Miss 
Crump,  or  Miss  Hopkins  as  heroine  in  her  place  ?) — it  could 
not  be  expected  that  every  one  should  be  of  the  humble  and 
gentle  temper  of  Miss  Amelia  Sedley,  should  take  every  oppor- 
tunity to  vanquish  Rebecca's  hard-heartedness  and  ill-humor, 
and,  by  a  thousand  kind  words  and  offices,  overcome  for  once 
at  least  her  hostility  to  her  kind. 

Miss  Sharp's  father  was  an  artist,  and  in  that  quality  had 
given  lessons  of  drawing  at  Miss  Pinkerton's  school.  He  was  a 
clever  man,  a  pleasant  companion,  a  careless  student,  with  a 
great  propensity  for  running  into  debt,  and  a  partiality  for  the 
tavern.  When  he  was  drunk,  he  used  to  beat  his  wife  and 
daughter;  and  the  next  morning,  with  a  headache,  he  would 
rail  at  the  world  for  its  neglect  of  his  genius,  and  abuse  with  a 
good  deal  of  cleverness,  and  sometimes  with  perfect  reason,  the 
fools,  his  brother  painters.  As  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  he  could  keep  himself,  and  as  he  owed  money  for  a  mile 
round  Soho,  where  he  lived,  he  thought  to  better  his  circum- 
stances by  marrying  a  young  woman  of  the  French  nation,  who 
was  by  profession  an  opera-girl.  The  humble  calling  of  her 
female  parent  Miss  Sharp  never  alluded  to,  but  used  to  state 
subsequently  that  the  Entrechats  were  a  noble  family  of  Gas- 
cony,  and  took  great  pride  in  her  descent  from  them.  And 
curious  it  is  that,  as  she  advanced  in  life,  this  young  lady's 
ancestors  increased  in  rank  and  splendor. 


254  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

Rebecca's  mother  had  had  some  education  somewhere,  and 
her  daughter  spoke  French  with  purity  and  a  Parisian  accent. 
It  was  in  those  days  rather  a  rare  accomplishment,  and  led  to 
her  engagement  with  the  orthodox  Miss  Pinkerton.  For  her 
mother  being  dead,  her  father,  finding  himself  not  likely  to 
recover,  after  his  third  attack  of  delirium  tremens,  wrote  a  manly 
and  pathetic  letter  to  Miss  Pinkerton,  recommending  the  orphan 
child  to  her  protection,  and  so  descended  to  the  grave,  after  two 
bailiffs  had  quarreled  over  his  corpse.  Rebecca  was  seventeen 
when  she  came  to  Chiswick,  and  was  bound  over  as  an  articled 
pupil ;  her  duties  being  to  talk  French,  as  we  have  seen  ;  and  her 
privileges  to  live  cost  free,  and,  with  a  few  guineas  a  year,to  gather 
scraps  of  knowledge  from  the  professors  who  attended  the  school. 

She  was  small  and  slight  in  person;  pale,  sandy-haired,  and 
with  eyes  habitually  cast  down;  when  they  looked  up,  they 
were  very  large,  odd,  and  attractive ;  so  attractive  that  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Crisp,  fresh  from  Oxford,  and  curate  to  the  Vicar  of 
Chiswick,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Flowerdew,  fell  in  love  with  Miss 
Sharp ;  being  shot  dead  by  a  glance  of  her  eyes  which  was  fired 
all  the  way  across  Chiswick  Church  from  the  school-pew  to  the 
reading-desk.  This  infatuated  young  man  used  sometimes  to 
take  tea  with  Miss  Pinkerton,  to  whom  he  had  been  presented 
by  his  mamma,  and  actually  proposed  something  like  marriage 
in  an  intercepted  note,  which  the  one-eyed  apple-woman  was 
charged  to  deliver.  Mrs.  Crisp  was  summoned  from  Buxton, 
and  abruptly  carried  off  her  darling  boy  ;  but  the  idea,  even, 
of  such  an  eagle  in  the  Chiswick  dovecot  caused  a  great  flutter 
in  the  breast  of  Miss  Pinkerton,  who  would  have  sent  away 
Miss  Sharp,  but  that  she  was  bound  to  her  under  a  forfeit,  and 
who  never  could  thoroughly  believe  the  young  lady's  protesta- 
tions that  she  had  never  exchanged  a  single  word  with  Mr. 
Crisp,  except  under  her  own  eyes  on  the  two  occasions  when 
she  had  met  him  at  tea. 

By  the  side  of  many  tall  and  bouncing  young  ladies  in  the 
establishment,  Rebecca  Sharp  looked  like  a  child.  But  she  had 
the  dismal  precocity  of  poverty.  Many  a  dun  had  she  talked 


MISS  PINKERTON' 8  SCHOOL    ON  CHISWICK  MALL      255 

to,  and  turned  away  from  her  father's  door ;  many  a  tradesman 
had  she  coaxed  and  wheedled  into  good  humor,  and  into  the 
granting  of  one  meal  more.  She  sat  commonly  with  her  father, 
who  was  very  proud  of  her  wit,  and  heard  the  talk  of  many  of 
his  wild  companions — often  but  ill-suited  for  a  girl  to  hear. 
But  she  never  had  been  a  girl,  she  said  ;  she  had  been  a  woman 
since  she  was  eight  years  old.  O,  why  did  Miss  Pinkerton  let 
such  a  dangerous  bird  into  her  cage  ? 

The  fact  is,  the  old  lady  believed  Rebecca  to  be  the  meekest 
creature  in  the  world,  so  admirably,  on  the  occasions  when  her 
father  brought  her  to  Chiswick,  used  Rebecca  to  perform  the 
part  of  the  ingenue;  and  only  a  year  before  the  arrangement 
by  which  Rebecca  had  been  admitted  into  her  house,  and  when 
Rebecca  was  sixteen  years  old,  Miss  Pinkerton  majestically  and 
with  a  little  speech  made  her  a  present  of  a  doll — which  was, 
by  the  way,  the  confiscated  property  of  Miss  Swindle,  discov- 
ered surreptitiously  nursing  it  in  school-hours.  How  the  father 
and  daughter  laughed  as  they  trudged  home  together  after  the 
evening  party  (it  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  speeches,  when  all 
the  professors  were  invited),  and  how  Miss  Pinkerton  would 
have  raged  had  she  seen  the  caricature  of  herself  which  the 
little  mimic,  Rebecca,  managed  to  make  out  of  her  doll !  Becky 
used  to  go  through  dialogues  with  it ;  it  formed  the  delight  of 
Newman  Street,  Gerard  Street,  and  the  artists'  quarter ;  and  the 
young  painters,  when  they  came  to  take  their  gin-and-water 
with  their  lazy,  dissolute,  clever,  jovial  senior,  used  regularly  to 
ask  Rebecca  if  Miss  Pinkerton  was  at  home ;  she  was  as  well 
known  to  them,  poor  soul,  as  Mr.  Lawrence  or  President  West. 
Once  she  had  the  honor  to  pass  a  few  days  at  Chiswick ;  after 
which  she  brought  back  Jemima,  and  erected  another  doll  as 
Miss  Jemmy ;  for  though  that  honest  creature  had  made  and 
given  her  jelly  and  cake  enough  for  three  children,  and  a  seven- 
shilling  piece  at  parting,  the  girl's  sense  of  ridicule  was  far 
stronger  than  her  gratitude,  and  she  sacrificed  Miss  Jemmy 
quite  as  pitilessly  as  her  sister. 

The  catastrophe  came,  and  she  was  brought  to  the  Mall  as  to 


256  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

her  home.  The  rigid  formality  of  the  place  suffocated  her ;  the 
prayers  and  the  meals,  the  lessons  and  the  walks,  which  were 
arranged  with  a  conventual  regularity,  oppressed  her  almost 
beyond  endurance;  and  she  looked  back  to  the  freedom  and 
the  beggary  of  the  old  studio  in  Soho  with  so  much  regret 
that  everybody,  herself  included,  fancied  she  was  consumed 
with  grief  for  her  father.  She  had  a  little  room  in  the  garret, 
where  the  maids  heard  her  walking  and  sobbing  at  night ;  but 
it  was  with  rage  and  not  with  grief.  She  had  not  been  much 
of  a  dissembler,  until  now  her  loneliness  taught  her  to  feign. 
She  had  never  mingled  in  the  society  of  women;  her  father, 
reprobate  as  he  was,  was  a  man  of  talent ;  his  conversation  was 
a  thousand  times  more  agreeable  to  her  than  the  talk  of  such 
of  her  own  sex  as  she  now  encountered.  The  pompous  vanity 
of  the  old  schoolmistress,  the  foolish  good-humor  of  her  sister, 
the  silly  chat  and  scandal  of  the  elder  girls,  and  the  frigid  cor- 
rectness of  the  governesses  equally  annoyed  her;  and  she  had 
no  soft  maternal  heart,  this  unlucky  girl,  otherwise  the  prattle 
and  talk  of  the  younger  children,  with  whose  care  she  was 
chiefly  intrusted,  might  have  soothed  and  interested  her ;  but 
she  lived  among  them  two  years,  and  not  one  was  sorry  that 
she  went  away.  The  gentle,  tender-hearted  Amelia  Sedley  was 
the  only  person  to  whom  she  could  attach  herself  in  the  least ; 
and  who  could  help  attaching  herself  to  Amelia  ? 

The  happiness,  the  superior  advantages  of  the  young  women 
round  about  her  gave  Rebecca  inexpressible  pangs  of  envy. 
"  What  airs  that  girl  gives  herself  because  she  is  an  earl's  grand- 
daughter," she  said  of  one.  "  How  they  cringe  and  bow  to  that 
Creole,  because  of  her  hundred  thousand  pounds!  I  am  a 
thousand  times  cleverer  and  more  charming  than  that  creature, 
for  all  her  wealth.  I  am  as  well  bred  as  the  earl's  grand- 
daughter, for  all  her  fine  pedigree;  and  yet  every  one  passes 
me  by  here.  And  yet,  when  I  was  at  my  father's,  did  not  the 
men  give  up  their  gayest  balls  and  parties  in  order  to  pass  the 
evening  with  me?  "  She  determined,  at  any  rate,  to  get  free 
from  the  prison  in  which  she  found  herself,  and  now  began  to 


MISS  PINKERTON'S  SCHOOL    ON  CHISWICK  MALL      257 

act  for  herself,  and  for  the  first  time  to  make  connected  plans 
for  the  future. 

She  took  advantage,  therefore,  of  the  means  of  study  the  place 
offered  her;  and  as  she  was  already  a  musician  and  a  good 
linguist,  she  speedily  went  through  the  little  course  of  study 
which  was  considered  necessary  for  ladies  in  those  days.  Her 
music  she  practiced  incessantly,  and  one  day,  when  the  girls 
were  out  and  she  had  remained  at  home  she  was  overheard  to 
play  a  piece  so  well  that  Minerva  thought  wisely,  she  could 
spare  herself  the  expense  of  a  master  for  the  juniors,  and  inti- 
mated to  Miss  Sharp  that  she  was  to  instruct  them  in  music 
for  the  future. 

The  girl  refused  ;  and  for  the  first  time,  and  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  majestic  mistress  of  the  school.  "  I  am  here  to 
speak  French  with  the  children,"  Rebecca  said,  abruptly,  "  not 
to  teach  them  music,  and  save  money  for  you.  Give  me  money, 
and  I  will  teach  them." 

Minerva  was  obliged  to  yield,  and,  of  course,  disliked  her 
from  that  day.  "  For  five-and-thirty  years,"  she  said,  and  with 
grave  justice,  "  I  never  have  seen  the  individual  who  has  dared 
in  my  own  house  to  question  my  authority.  I  have  nourished 
a  viper  in  my  bosom." 

"  A  viper — a  fiddlestick,"  said  Miss  Sharp  to  the  old  lady, 
almost  fainting  with  astonishment.  "  You  took  me  because  I 
was  useful.  There  is  no  question  of  gratitude  between  us.  I 
hate  this  place,  and  want  to  leave  it.  I  will  do  nothing  here 
but  what  I  am  obliged  to  do." 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  old  lady  asked  her  if  she  was  aware 
she  was  speaking  to  Miss  Pinkerton  ?  Rebecca  laughed  in  her 
face,  with  a  horrid,  sarcastic,  demoniacal  laughter,  that  almost 
sent  the  schoolmistress  into  fits.  "  Give  me  a  sum  of  money," 
said  the  girl,  "  and  get  rid  of  me — or,  if  you  like  better,  get  me 
a  good  place  as  governess  in  a  nobleman's  family — you  can  do 
so  if  you  please."  And  in  their  further  disputes  she  always 
returned  to  this  point.  "Get  me  a  situation — we  hate  each 
other,  and  I  am  ready  to  go." 

&    M.~ 17 


258  WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

Worthy  Miss  Pinkerton,  although  she  had  a  Roman  nose 
and  a  turban,  and  was  as  tall  as  a  grenadier,  and  had  been  up 
to  this  time  an  irresistible  princess,  had  no  will  or  strength  like 
that  of  her  little  apprentice,  and  in  vain  did  battle  against  her, 
and  tried  to  overawe  her.  Attempting  once  to  scold  her  in 
public,  Rebecca  hit  upon  the  before-mentioned  plan  of  answer- 
ing her  in  French,  which  quite  routed  the  old  woman.  In 
order  to  maintain  her  authority  in  her  school,  it  became  neces- 
sary to  remove  this  rebel,  this  monster,  this  serpent,  this  fire- 
brand; and  hearing  about  this  time  that  Sir  Pitt  Crawley's 
family  was  in  want  of  a  governess,  she  actually  recommended 
Miss  Sharp  for  the  situation,  firebrand  and  serpent  as  she  was. 
"  I  cannot,  certainly,"  she  said,  "  find  fault  with  Miss  Sharp's 
conduct,  except  to  myself,  and  must  allow  that  her  talents  and 
accomplishments  are  of  a  high  order.  As  far  as  the  head  goes, 
at  least,  she  does  credit  to  the  educational  system  pursued  at 
my  establishment." 

And  so  the  schoolmistress  reconciled  the  recommendation  to 
her  conscience,  and  the  indentures  were  canceled,  and  the 
apprentice  was  free. 

Dr.   Swishtail's  Academy 
(From  "Vanity  Pair") 

Cuff's  fight  with  Dobbin,  and  the  unexpected  issue  of  that 
contest,  will  long  be  remembered  by  every  man  who  was  edu- 
cated at  Dr.  Swishtail's  famous  school.  The  latter  youth  (who 
used  to  be  called  Heigh-ho  Dobbin,  Gee-ho  Dobbin,  and  by 
many  other  names  indicative  of  puerile  contempt)  was  the 
quietest,  the  clumsiest,  and,  as  it  seemed,  the  dullest  of  all  Dr. 
Swishtail's  young  gentlemen.  His  parent  was  a  grocer  in  the 
City ;  and  it  was  bruited  abroad  that  he  was  admitted  into  Dr. 
Swishtail's  academy  upon  what  are  called  "  mutual  princi- 
ples " — that  is  to  say,  the  expenses  of  his  board  and  schooling 
were  defrayed  by  his  father  in  goods,  not  money ;  and  he  stood 
there — almost  at  the  bottom  of  the  school,  in  his  scraggy  cor- 


DR.   SWISHTAIVS  ACADEMY  259 

duroys  and  jacket,  through  the  seams  of  which  his  great  big 
bones  were  bursting — as  the  representative  of  so  many  pounds 
of  tea,  candles,  sugar,  mottled-soap,  plums  (of  which  a  very 
mild  proportion  was  supplied  for  the  puddings  of  the  establish- 
ment), and  other  commodities.  A  dreadful  day  it  was  for 
young  Dobbin  when  one  of  the  youngsters  of  the  school,  having 
run  into  the  town  upon  a  poaching  excursion  for  hardbake  and 
polonies,  espied  the  cart  of  Dobbin  &  Rudge,  Grocers  and  Oil- 
men, Thames  Street,  London,  at  the  doctor's  door,  discharging 
a  cargo  of  the  wares  in  which  the  firm  dealt. 

Young  Dobbin  had  no  peace  after  that.  The  jokes  were 
frightful,  and  merciless  against  him.  "  Hullo,  Dobbin,"  one 
wag  would  say,  "  here's  good  news  in  the  paper.  Sugar  is  ris', 
my  boy."  Another  would  set  a  sum  :  "  If  a  pound  of  mutton 
candles  cost  seven-pence-half-penny,  how  much  must  Dobbin 
cost  ? "  and  a  roar  would  follow  from  all  the  circle  of  young 
knaves,  usher  and  all,  who  rightly  considered  that  the  selling 
of  goods  by  retail  is  a  shameful  and  infamous  practice,  merit- 
ing the  contempt  and  scorn  of  all  real  gentlemen. 

"  Your  father's  only  a  merchant,  Osborne,"  Dobbin  said  in 
private  to  the  little  boy  who  had  brought  down  the  storm  upon 
him.  At  which  the  latter  replied,  haughtily,  "  My  father's  a 
gentleman,  and  keeps  his  carriage ; "  and  Mr.  William  Dobbin 
retreated  to  a  remote  outhouse  in  the  playground,  where  he 
passed  a  half-holiday  in  the  bitterest  sadness  and  woe.  Who 
amongst  us  is  there  that  does  not  recollect  similar  hours  of 
bitter,  bitter  childish  grief?  Who  feels  injustice,  who  shrinks 
before  a  slight,  who  has  a  sense  of  wrong  so  acute,  and  so  glow- 
ing a  gratitude  for  kindness,  as  a  generous  boy?  and  how 
many  of  those  gentle  souls  do  you  degrade,  estrange,  torture,  for 
the  sake  of  a  little  loose  arithmetic  and  miserable  dog  Latin  ? 

Now,  William  Dobbin,  from  an  incapacity  to  acquire  the 
rudiments  of  the  above  language,  as  they  are  propounded  in 
that  wonderful  book,  the  "  Eton  Latin  Grammar,"  was  com- 
pelled to  remain  among  the  very  last  of  Dr.  Swishtail's  scholars, 
and  was  "  taken  down  "  continually  by  little  fellows  with  pink 


260  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

faces  and  pinafores  when  he  marched  up  with  the  lower  form, 
a  giant  amongst  them,  with  his  downcast,  stupefied  look,  his 
dog-eared  primer,  and  his  tight  corduroys.  High  and  low  all 
made  fun  of  him.  They  sewed  up  those  corduroys,  tight  as 
they  were.  They  cut  his  bed-strings.  They  upset  buckets  and 
benches,  so  that  he  might  break  his  shins  over  them,  which 
he  never  failed  to  do.  They  sent  him  parcels,  which,  when 
opened,  were  found  to  contain  the  paternal  soap  and  candles. 
There  was  no  little  fellow  but  had  his  jeer  and  joke  at  Dobbin ; 
and  he  bore  everything  quite  patiently,  and  was  entirely  dumb 
and  miserable. 

Cuff,  on  the  contrary,  was  the  great  chief  and  dandy  of  the 
Swishtail  Seminary.  He  smuggled  wine  in.  He  fought  the 
town  boys.  Ponies  used  to  come  for  him  to  ride  home  on  Sat- 
urdays. He  had  his  top-boots  in  his  room,  in  which  he  used  to 
hunt  in  the  holidays.  He  had  a  gold  repeater ;  and  took  snuif 
like  the  doctor.  He  had  been  to  the  opera,  and  knew  the  merits 
of  the  principal  actors,  preferring  Mr.  Kean  to  Mr.  Kemble. 
He  could  knock  you  off  forty  Latin  verses  in  an  hour.  He 
could  make  French  poetry.  What  else  didn't  he  know,  or 
couldn't  he  do  ?  They  said  even  the  doctor  himself  was  afraid 
of  him. 

Cuff,  the  unquestioned  king  of  the  school,  ruled  over  his  sub- 
jects and  bullied  them,  with  splendid  superiority.  This  one 
blacked  his  shoes ;  that  toasted  his  bread ;  others  would  fag  out, 
and  give  him  balls  at  cricket  during  whole  summer  after- 
noons. "  Figs  "  was  the  fellow  whom  he  despised  most,  and 
with  whom,  though  always  abusing  him,  and  sneering  at  him, 
he  scarcely  ever  condescended  to  hold  personal  communication. 

One  day  in  private  the  two  young  gentlemen  had  had  a  dif- 
ference. Figs,  alone  in  the  schoolroom,  was  blundering  over  a 
home  letter ;  when  Cuff,  entering,  bade  him  go  upon  some  mes- 
sage of  which  tarts  were  probably  the  subject. 

"  I  can't,"  says  Dobbin ;  "  I  want  to  finish  my  letter." 

"  You  can't  ?  "  says  Mr.  Cuff,  laying  hold  of  that  document 
(in  which  many  words  were  scratched  out,  many  were  misspelt, 


DR.    SWISHTAIUS  ACADEMY  261 

on  which  had  been  spent  I  don't  know  how  nmch  thought,  and 
labor,  and  tears  ;  for  the  poor  fellow  was  writing  to  his  mother, 
who  was  fond  of  him,  although  she  was  a  grocer's  wife  and  lived 
in  a  back  parlor  in  Thames  Street) — "  you  carit  ?  "  says  Mr.  Cuff. 
"  I  should  like  to  know  why,  pray  ?  Can't  you  write  to  old 
Mother  Figs  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Don't  call  names,"  Dobbin  said,  getting  off  the  bench,  very 
nervous. 

"  Well,  sir,  will  you  go  ?  "  crowed  the  cock  of  the  school. 

"  Put  down  the  letter,"  Dobbin  replied ;  "  no  gentleman 
readth  letterth." 

"  Well,  now  will  you  go  ?  "  says  the  other. 

"  No,  I  won't.  Don't  strike,  or  I'll  thmash  you,"  roars  out 
Dobbin,  springing  to  a  leaden  inkstand,  and  looking  so  wicked 
that  Mr.  Cuff  paused,  turned  down  his  coat-sleeves  again,  put 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  walked  away  with  a  sneer.  But 
he  never  meddled  personally  with  the  grocer's  boy  after  that ; 
though  we  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  always  spoke  of 
Mr.  Dobbin  with  contempt  behind  his  back. 

Some  time  after  this  interview  it  happened  that  Mr.  Cuff,  on 
a  sunshiny  afternoon,  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  poor  William 
Dobbin,  who  was  lying  under  a  tree  in  the  playground,  spell- 
ing over  a  favorite  copy  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  which  he 
had — apart  from  the  rest  of  the  school,  who  were  pursuing  their 
various  sports — quite  lonely,  and  almost  happy.  If  people 
would  but  leave  children  to  themselves  ;  if  teachers  would  cease 
to  bully  them;  if  parents  would  not  insist  upon  directing  their 
thoughts,  and  dominating  their  feelings — those  feelings  and 
thoughts  which  are  a  mystery  to  all  (for  how  much  do  you  and 
I  know  of  each  other,  of  our  children,  of  our  fathers,  of  our 
neighbors,  and  how  far  more  beautiful  and  sacred  are  the 
thoughts  of  the  poor  lad  or  girl  whom  you  govern  likely  to  be, 
than  those  of  the  dull  and  world-corrupted  person  who  rules 
him) — if,  I  say,  parents  and  masters  would  leave  their  children 
alone  a  little  more — small  harm  would  accrue,  although  a  less 
quantity  of  as  in  prxsenti  might  be  acquired. 


262  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

Well,  William  Dobbin  had  for  once  forgotten  the  world,  and 
was  away  with  Sinbad  the  Sailor  in  the  Valley  of  Diamonds,  or 
with  Prince  Ahmed  and  the  Fairy  Peribanou  in  that  delightful 
cavern  where  the  prince  found  her,  and  whither  we  should  all 
like  to  make  a  tour,  when  shrill  cries,  as  of  a  little  fellow  weep- 
ing, woke  up  his  pleasant  reverie ;  and  looking  up  he  saw  Cuff 
before  him,  belaboring  a  little  boy. 

It  was  the  lad  who  had  peached  upon  him  about  the  grocer's 
cart ;  but  he  bore  little  malice,  not  at  least  toward  the  young 
and  small.  "  How  dare  you,  sir,  break  the  bottle?  "  says  Cuff 
to  the  little  urchin,  swinging  a  yellow  cricket-stump  over  him. 

The  boy  had  been  instructed  to  get  over  the  playground 
wall  (at  a  selected  spot  where  the  broken  glass  had  been 
removed  from  the  top,  and  niches  made  convenient  in  the 
brick) ;  to  run  a  quarter  of  a  mile ;  to  purchase  a  pint  of  rum- 
shrub  on  credit;  to  brave  all  the  doctor's  outlying  spies,  and  to 
clamber  back  into  the  playground  again;  during  the  perform- 
ance of  which  feat  his  foot  had  slipped,  and  the  bottle  was 
broken,  and  the  shrub  had  been  spilled,  and  his  pantaloons  had 
been  damaged,  and  he  appeared  before  his  employer  a  perfectly 
guilty  and  trembling,  though  harmless,  wretch. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,  break  it  ?  "  says  Cuff;  "-you  blundering 
little  thief  !  You  drank  the  shrub,  and  now  you  pretend  to 
have  broken  the  bottle.  Hold  out  your  hand,  sir." 

Down  came  the  stump  with  a  great  heavy  thump  on  the 
child's  hand.  A  moan  followed.  Dobbin  looked  up.  The 
Fairy  Peribanou  had  fled  into  the  inmost  cavern  with  Prince 
Ahmed ;  the  Roc  had  whisked  away  Sinbad  the  Sailor  out  of 
the  Valley  of  Diamonds,  out  of  sight,  far  into  the  clouds ;  and 
there  was  every-day  life  before  honest  William ;  and  a  big  boy 
beating  a  little  one  without  cause. 

"  Hold  out  your  other  hand,  sir,"  roars  Cuff  to  his  little 
school-fellow,  whose  face  was  distorted  with  pain.  Dobbin 
quivered,  and  gathered  himself  up  in  his  narrow  old  clothes. 

"  Take  that,  you  little  devil ! "  cried  Mr.  Cuff,  and  down  came 
the  wicket  again  on  the  child's  hand.  Don't  be  horrified, 


V. 

I 

DR.    8W28HTAIL'S  ACADEMY  263 

ladies,  every  boy  at  a  public  school  has  done  it.  Your  children 
will  so  do  and  be  done  by  in  all  probability.  Down  came  the 
wicket  again,  and  Dobbin  started  up. 

I  can't  tell  what  his  motive  was.  Torture  in  a  public  school 
is  as  much  licensed  as  the  knout  in  Russia.  It  would  be 
ungentleman-like  (in  a  manner)  to  resist  it.  Perhaps  Dobbin's 
foolish  soul  revolted  against  that  exercise  of  tyranny ;  or  per- 
haps he  had  a  hankering  feeling  of  revenge  in  his  mind,  and 
longed  to  measure  himself  against  that  splendid  bully  and 
tyrant,  who  had  all  the  glory,  pride,  pomp,  circumstance, 
banners  flying,  drums  beating,  guards  saluting,  in  the  place. 
Whatever  may  have  been  his  incentive,  however,  up  he  sprang, 
and  screamed  out,  "  Hold  off,  Cuff;  don't  bully  that  child  any 
more  ;  or  I'll " 

"  Or  you'll  what  ?  "  Cuff  asked  in  amazement  at  this  inter- 
ruption. "  Hold  out  your  hand,  you  little  beast !  " 

"  I'll  give  you  the  worst  thrashing  you  ever  had  in  your  life," 
Dobbin  said,  in  reply  to  the  first  part  of  Cuff's  sentence ;  and 
little  Osborne,  gasping  and  in  tears,  looked  up  with  wonder  and 
incredulity  at  seeing  this  amazing  champion  put  up  suddenly 
to  defend  him ;  while  Cuff's  astonishment  was  scarcely  less. 
Fancy  our  late  monarch,  George  III.,  when  he  heard  of  the 
revolt  of  the  North  American  colonies ;  fancy  brazen  Goliath 
when  little  David  stepped  forward  and  claimed  a  meeting  ;  and 
you  have  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Reginald  Cuff  when  this  rencontre 
was  proposed  to  him. 

"  After  school,"  says  he,  of  course ;  after  a  pause  and  a  look 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Make  your  will,  and  communicate  your 
best  wishes  to  your  friends  between  this  time  and  that." 

"  As  you  please,"  Dobbin  said.  "  You  must  be  my  bottle- 
holder,  Osborne." 

"  Well,  if  you  like,"  little  Osborne  replied  ;  for  you  see  his  papa 
kept  a  carriage,  and  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  his  champion. 

Yes,  when  the  hour  of  battle  came,  he  was  almost  ashamed  to 
say,  "  Go  it,  Figs ; "  and  not  a  single  other  boy  in  the  place 
uttered  that  cry  for  the  first  two  or  three  rounds  of  this  famous 


264  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

combat ;  at  the  commencement  of  which  the  scientific  Cuff 
with  a  contemptuous  smile  on  his  face,  and  as  light  and  as  gay 
as  if  he  was  at  a  ball,  planted  his  blows  upon  his  adversary, 
and  floored  that  unlucky  champion  three  times  running.  At 
each  fall  there  was  a  cheer;  and  everybody  was  anxious  to 
have  the  honor  of  offering  the  conqueror  a  knee. 

"  What  a  licking  I  shall  get  when  it's  over  !  "  young  Osborne 
thought,  picking  up  his  man.  "  You'd  best  give  in,"  he  said  to 
Dobbin ;  "  it's  only  a  thrashing,  Figs,  and  you  know  I'm  used 
to  it."  But  Figs,  all  whose  limbs  were  in  a  quiver,  and  whose 
nostrils  were  breathing  rage,  put  his  little  bottle-holder  aside, 
and  went  in  for  a  fourth  time. 

As  he  did  not  in  the  least  know  how  to  parry  the  blows  that 
were  aimed  at  himself,  and  Cuff  had  begun  the  attack  on  the 
three  preceding  occasions,  without  ever  allowing  his  enemy  to 
strike,  Figs  now  determined  that  he  would  commence  the  en- 
gagement by  a  charge  on  his  own  part ;  and  accordingly,  being 
a  left-handed  man,  brought  that  arm  into  action,  and  hit  out  a 
couple  of  times  with  all  his  might — once  at  Mr.  Cuff's  left  eye^ 
and  once  on  his  beautiful  Roman  nose. 

Cuff  went  down  this  time  to  the  astonishment  of  the  assem- 
bly. "  Well  hit,  by  Jove !  "  says  little  Osborne,  with  the  air  of 
a  connoisseur,  clapping  his  man  on  the  back.  "  Give  it  him 
with  the  left,  Figs,  my  boy." 

Figs's  left  made  terrific  play  during  all  the  rest  of  the  com- 
bat. Cuff  went  down  every  time.  At  the  sixth  round,  there 
were  almost  as  many  fellows  shouting  out,  "  Go  it,  Figs !  "  as 
there  were  youths  exclaiming,  "  Go  it,  Cuff !  "  At  the  twelfth 
round  the  latter  champion  was  all  abroad,  as  the  saying  is,  and 
had  lost  all  presence  of  mind  and  power  of  attack  or  defense. 
Figs,  on  the  contrary,  was  as  calm  as  a  Quaker.  His  face  being 
quite  pale,  his  eyes  shining  open,  and  a  great  cut  on  his  under 
lip  bleeding  profusely,  gave  this  young  fellow  a  fierce  and 
ghastly  air,  which  perhaps  struck  terror  into  many  spectators. 
Nevertheless,  his  intrepid  adversary  prepared  to  close  for  the 
thirteenth  time. 


DR.    8WISHTAIVS  ACADEMY  265 

If  I  had  the  pen  of  a  Napier,  or  a  Bell's  Life,  I  should  like  to 
describe  this  combat  properly.  It  was  the  last  charge  of  the 
Guard  (that  is,  it  would  have  been  only  Waterloo  had  not  yet 
taken  place) — it  was  Ney's  column  breasting  the  hill  of  La 
Haye  Sainte,  bristling  with  ten  thousand  bayonets,  and  crowned 
with  twenty  eagles — it  was  the  shout  of  the  beef-eating  British, 
as,  leaping  down  the  hill,  they  rushed  to  hug  the  enemy  in  the 
savage  arms  of  battle — in  other  words,  Cuff  coining  up  full  of 
pluck,  but  quite  reeling  and  groggy,  the  Fig-merchant  put  in 
his  left  as  usual  on  his  adversary's  nose,  and  sent  him  down  for 
the  last  time. 

"  I  think  that  will  do  for  him,"  Figs  said,  as  his  opponent 
dropped  as  neatly  on  the  green  as  I  have  seen  Jack  Spot's  ball 
plump  into  the  pocket  at  billiards ;  and  the  fact  is,  when  time 
was  called,  Mr.  Reginald  Cuff  was  not  able,  or  did  not  choose, 
to  stand  up  again. 

And  now  all  the  boys  set  up  such  a  shout  for  Figs  as  would 
make  you  think  he  had  been  their  darling  champion  through 
the  whole  battle ;  and  as  absolutely  brought  Dr.  Swishtail  out 
of  his  study,  curious  to  know  the  cause  of  the  uproar.  He 
threatened  to  flog  Figs  violently,  of  course  ;  but  Cuff,  who  had 
come  to  himself  by  this  time,  and  was  washing  his  wounds, 
stood  up  and  said,  "  It's  my  fault,  sir — not  Figs's — not  Dobbin's. 
I  was  bullying  a  little  boy;  and  he  served  me  right."  By 
which  magnanimous  speech  he  not  only  saved  his  conqueror  a 
whipping,  but  got  back  all  his  ascendency  over  the  boys,  which 
his  defeat  had  nearly  cost  him. 

Young  Osborne  wrote  home  to  his  parents  an  account  of  the 
transaction. 

"SUGARCANE  HOUSE,  RICHMOND,  March  18—. 

"DEAR  MAMMA — I  hope  you  are  quite  well.  I  should  be  much 
obliged  to  you  to  send  me  a  cake  and  five  shillings.  There  has  been  a 
fight  here  between  Cuff  &  Dobbin.  Cuff,  you  know,  was  the  Cock  of 
the  School.  They  fought  thirteen  rounds,  and  Dobbin  Licked.  So 
Cuff  is  now  Only  Second  Cock.  The  fight  was  about  me.  Cuff  was 
licking  me  for  breaking  a  bottle  of  milk,  and  Figs  wouldn't  stand  it. 
We  call  him  Figs  because  his  father  is  a  Grocer— Figs  &  Eudge, 


266  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

Thames  St.,  City — I  think  as  he  fought  for  me  you  ought  to  buy  your 
Tea  &  Sugar  at  his  father's.  Cuff  goes  home  every  Saturday,  but  can't 
this,  because  he  has  2  Black  Eyes.  He  has  a  white  Pony  to  come 
and  fetch  him,  and  a  groom  in  livery  on  a  bay  mare.  I  wish  my  Papa 
would  let  me  have  a  Pony,  and  I  am 

Your  dutiful  Son, 

"GEORGE  SEDLEY  OSBORNE. 

"  P.  S. — Give  my  love  to  little  Emmy.  I  am  cutting  her  out  a 
Coach  in  cardboard.  Please  not  a  seed-cake,  but  a  plum-cake." 

In  consequence  of  Dobbin's  victory,  his  character  rose  pro- 
digiously in  the  estimation  of  all  his  schoolfellows,  and  the 
name  of  Figs,  which  had  been  a  byword  of  reproach,  became  as 
respectable  and  popular  a  nickname  as  any  other  in  use  in  the 
school.  .  "  After  all,  it's  not  his  fault  that  his  father's  a  grocer," 
George  Osborne  said,  who,  though  a  little  chap,  had  a  very  high 
popularity  among  the  Swishtail  youth ;  and  his  opinion  was 
received  with  great  applause.  It  was  voted  low  to  sneer  at 
Dobbin  about  this  accident  of  birth.  "  Old  Figs  "  grew  to  be  a 
name  of  kindness  and  endearment ;  and  the  sneak  of  an  usher 
jeered  at  him  no  longer. . 

And  Dobbin's  spirit  rose  with  his  altered  circumstances.  He 
made  wonderful  advances  in  scholastic  learning.  The  superb 
Cuff  himself,  at  whose  condescension  Dobbin  could  only  blush 
and  wonder,  helped  him  on  with  his  Latin  verses  ;  "  coached  " 
him  in  play  hours,  carried  him  triumphantly  out  of  the  little- 
boy  class  into  the  middle-sized  form ;  and  even  there  got  a  fair 
place  for  him.  It  was  discovered,  that  although  dull  at  class- 
ical learning,  at  mathematics  he  was  uncommonly  quick.  To 
the  contentment  of  all  he  passed  third  in  algebra,  and  got  a 
French  prize-book,  at  the  public  midsummer  examination. 
You  should  have  seen  his  mother's  face,  when  "  Telemaque  " 
(that  delicious  romance)  was  presented  to  him  by  the  doctor  in 
the  face  of  the  whole  school  and  the  parents  and  company,  with 
an  inscription  to  Gulielmo  Dobbin.  All  the  boys  clapped 
hands  in  token  of  applause  and  sympathy.  His  blushes,  his 
stumbles,  his  awkwardness,  and  the  number  of  feet  which  he 
crushed  as  he  went  back  to  his  place,  who  shall  describe  or  cal- 


DR.    SWISHTAIDS  ACADEMY  267 

culate  ?  Old  Dobbin,  his  father,  who  now  respected  him  for 
the  first  time,  gave  him  two  guineas  publicly ;  most  of  which 
he  spent  in  a  general  tuck  out  for  the  school ;  and  he  came 
back  in  a  tail-coat  after  the  holidays. 

Dobbin  was  much  too  modest  a  young  fellow  to  suppose  that 
this  happy  change  in  all  his  circumstances  arose  from  his  own 
generous  and  manly  disposition  ;  he  chose,  from  some  perverse- 
ness,  to  attribute  his  good  fortune  to  the  sole  agency  and  benev- 
olence of  little  George  Osborne,  to  whom  henceforth  he  vowed 
such  a  love  and  affection  as  is  only  felt  by  children — such  an 
affection  as  we^  read  in  the  charming  fairy  book  uncouth  Orson 
had  for  splendid  young  Valentine  his  conqueror.  He  flung 
himself  down  at  little  Osborne's  feet,  and  loved  him. 

Even  before  they  were  acquainted,  he  had  admired  Osborne 
in  secret.  Now  he  was  his  valet,  his  dog,  his  man  Friday.  He 
believed  Osborne  to  be  the  possessor  of  every  perfection,  to  be 
the  handsomest,  thp  bravest,  the  most  active,  the  cleverest,  the 
most  generous  of  created  boys.  He  shared  his  money  with 
him ;  bought  him  uncountable  presents  of  knives,  pencil-cases, 
gold  seals,  toffee,  Little  Warblers,  and  romantic  books,  with 
large  colored  pictures  of  knights  and  robbers,  in  many  of  which 
latter  you  might  read  inscriptions  to  George  Sedley  Osborne, 
Esq.,  from  his  attached  friend,  William  Dobbin — the  which 
tokens  of  homage  George  received  very  graciously,  as  became 
his  superior  merit. 

So  that  when  Lieutenant  Osborne,  coming  to  Russell  Square 
on  the  day  of  the  Vauxhall  party,  said  to  the  ladies,  "  Mrs. 
Sedley,  ma'am,  I  hope  you  have  room  ;  I've  asked  Dobbin  of 
ours  to  come  and  dine  here  and  go  with  us  to  Vauxhall.  He's 
almost  as  modest  as  Jos." 

"  Modesty !  .pooh ! "  said  the  stout  gentleman,  casting  a  vain- 
queur  look  at  Miss  Sharp. 

"He  is — but  you  are  incomparably  more  graceful,  Sedley," 
Osborne  added,  laughing.  "  I  met  him  at  the  Bedford,  when  I 
went  to  look  for  you;  and  I  told  him  that  Miss  Amelia  was 


268  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

come  home,  and  that  we  were  all  bent  on  going  out  for  a 
night's  pleasuring ;  and  that  Mrs.  Sedley  had  forgiven  his 
breaking  the  punch-bowl  at  the  child's  party.  Don't  you 
remember  that  catastrophe,  ma'am,  seven  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Over  Mrs.  Flamingo's  crimson  silk  gown,"  said  good- 
natured  Mrs.  Sed-ley.  "  What  a  gawky  it  was !  And  his  sisters 
are  not  much  more  graceful.  Lady  Dobbin  was  at  Highbury 
last  night  with  three  of  them.  Such  figures  !  my  dears." 

"  The  alderman's  very  rich,  isn't  he  ?  "  Osborne  said  archly. 
"  Don't  you  think  one  of  the  daughters  would  be  a  good  spec 
for  me,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  You  foolish  creature  !  Who  would  take  you,  I  should  like 
to  know,  with  your  yellow  face  ?  " 

"  Mine  a  yellow  face  ?  Stop  till  you  see  Dobbin.  Why,  he 
had  the  yellow  fever  three  times ;  twice  at  Nassau,  and  once  at 
St.  Kitt's." 

"  Well,  well ;  yours  is  quite  yellow  enough  for  us.  Isn't  it, 
Emmy  ?  "  Mrs.  Sedley  said :  at  which  speech  Miss  Amelia  only 
made  a  smile  and  a  blush ;  and  looking  at  Mr.  George 
Osborne's  pale,  interesting  countenance,  and  those  beautiful, 
black,  curling,  shining  whiskers,  which  the  young  gentleman 
himself  regarded  with  no  ordinary  complacency,  she  thought  in 
her  little  heart,  that  in  his  Majesty's  army,  or  in  the  wide  world, 
there  never  was  such  a  face  or  such  a  hero.  "  I  don't  care 
about  Captain  Dobbin's  complexion,"  she  said,  "  or  about  his 
awkwardness.  /  shall  always  like  him,  I  know;"  her  little 
reason  being  that  he  was  the  friend  and  champion  of  George. 

"  There's  not  a  finer  fellow  in  the  service,"  Osborne  said,  "  nor 
a  better  officer,  though  he  is  not  an  Adonis,  certainly."  And 
he  looked  toward  the  glass  himself  with  much  naivete ;  and  in 
so  doing,  caught  Miss  Sharp's  eye  fixed  keenly  upon  him,  at 
which  he  blushed  a  little,  and  Rebecca  thought  .in  her  heart, 
11  Ah,  mon  beau  monsieur !  I  think  I  have  your  gauge  " — the 
little  artful  minx! 

That  evening,  when  Amelia  came  tripping  into  the  drawing- 
room  in  a  white  muslin  frock,  prepared  for  conquest  at  Vaux- 


DR.    SWISHTAIUS  ACADEMY  269 

hall,  singing  like  a  lark  and  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  a  very  tall, 
ungainly  gentleman,  with  large  hands  and  feet,  and  large  ears, 
set  off  by  a  closely  cropped  head  of  black  hair,  and  in  the  hide- 
ous military  frogged  coat  and  cocked  hat  of  those  times,  ad- 
vanced to  meet  her,  and  made  her  one  of  the  clumsiest  bows 
that  was  ever  performed  by  a  mortal. 

This  was  no  other  than  Captain  William  Dobbin,  of  his 

Majesty's Regiment  of  Foot,  returned  from  yellow  fever, 

in  the  West  Indies,  to  which  the  fortune  of  the  service  had 
ordered  his  regiment,  whilst  so  many  of  his  gallant  comrades 
were  reaping  glory  in  the  Peninsula. 

He  had  arrived  with  a  knock  so  very  timid  and  quiet  that 
it  was  inaudible  to  the  ladies  up-stairs ;  otherwise,  you  may  be 
sure,  Miss  Amelia  would  never  have  been  so  bold  as  to  come 
singing  into  the  room.  As  it  was,  the  sweet,  fresh  little  voice 
went  right  into  the  captain's  heart,  and  nestled  there.  When 
she  held  out  her  hand  for  him  to  shake,  before  he  enveloped  it 
in  his  own,  he  paused,  and  thought,  "  Well,  is  it  possible — are 
you  the  little  maid  I  remember  in  the  pink  frock,  such  a  short 
time  ago — the  night  I  upset  the  punch-bowl,  just  after  I  was 
gazetted  ?  Are  you  the  little  girl  that  George  Osborne  said 
should  marry  him?  What  a  blooming  young  creature  you 
seem,  and  what  a  prize  the  rogue  has  got ! "  All  this  he 
thought,  before  he  took  Amelia's  hand  into  his  own,  and  as 
he  let  his  cocked  hat  fall. 

His  history  since  he  left  school,  until  the  very  moment  when 
we  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  again,  although  not  fully 
narrated,  has  yet,  I  think,  been  indicated  sufficiently  for  an  in- 
genious reader  by  the  conversation  in  the  last  page.  Dobbin, 
the  despised  grocer,  was  Alderman  Dobbin — Alderman  Dobbin 
was  Colonel  of  the  City  Light  Horse,  then  burning  with  mili- 
tary ardor  to  resist  the  French  Invasion.  Colonel  Dobbin's 
corps,  in  which  old  Mr.  Osborne  himself  was  but  an  indifferent 
corporal,  had  been  reviewed  by  the  Sovereign  and  the  Duke  of 
York ;  and  the  colonel  and  alderman  had  been  knighted.  His 
son  had  entered  the  army ;  and  young  Osborne  followed  pres- 


270  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

ently  in  the  same  regiment.  They  had  served  in  the  West 
Indies  and  in  Canada.  Their  regiment  had  just  come  home, 
and  the  attachment  of  Dobbin  to  George  Osborne  was  as  warm 
and  generous  now  as  it  had  been  when  the  two  were  schoolboys. 

Mr.  Veal's  School 

(From  "Vanity  Fair") 

Georgy  Osborne  was  now  fairly  established  in  his  grand- 
father's mansion  in  Russell  Square,  occupant  of  his  father's 
room  in  the  house,  and  heir  apparent  of  all  the  splendors  there. 
The  good  looks,  gallant  bearing,  and  gentleman-like  appearance 
of  the  boy  won  the  grandsire's  heart  for  him.  Mr.  Osborne  was 
as  proud  of  him  as  ever  he  had  been  of  the  elder  George. 

The  child  had  many  more  luxuries  and  indulgences  than 
had  been  awarded  to  his  father.  Osborne's  commerce  had  pros- 
pered greatly  of  late  years.  His  wealth  and  importance  in  the 
City  had  very  much  increased.  He  had  been  glad  enough  in 
former  days  to  put  the  elder  George  to  a  good  private  school ; 
and  a  commission  in  the  army  for  his  son  had  been  a  source  of 
no  small  pride  to  him ;  for  little  George  and  his  future  prospects 
the  old  man  looked  much  higher.  He  would  make  a  gentleman 
of  the  little  chap,  was  Mr.  Osborne's  constant  saying  regarding 
little  Georgy.  He  saw  him  in  his  mind's  eye,  a  collegian,  a 
Parliament  man — a  baronet,  perhaps.  The  old  man  thought 
he  would  die  contented  if  he  could  see  his  grandson  in  a  fair 
way  to  such  honors.  He  would  have  none  but  a  tip-top  college 
man  to  educate  him — none  of  your  quacks  and  pretenders — 
no,  no.  A  few  years  before,  he  used  to  be  savage,  and  inveigh 
against  all  parsons,  scholars,  and  the  like — declaring  that  they 
were  a  pack  of  humbugs  and  quacks,  that  weren't  fit  to  get  their 
living  but  by  grinding  Latin  and  Greek,  and  a  set  of  supercili- 
ous dogs,  that  pretended  to  look  down  upon  British  merchants 
and  gentlemen  who  could  buy  up  half  a  hundred  of  'em.  He 
would  mourn  now,  in  a  very  solemn  manner,  that  his  own  edu- 
cation had  been  neglected,  and  repeatedly  point  out,  in  pompous 


MR.    VEADS  SCHOOL  271 

orations  to  Georgy,  the  necessity  and  excellence  of  classical  ac- 
quirements. 

Georgy,  after  breakfast,  would  sit  in  the  arm-chair  in  the 
dining-room,  and  read  the  Morning  Post,  just  like  a  grown-up 
man.  "How  he  du  dam  an  swear,"  the  servants  would  cry, 
delighted  at  his  precocity.  Those  who  remembered  the  captain 
and  his  father  declared  Master  George  was  his  pa,  every  inch 
of  him.  He  made  the  house  lively  by  his  activity,  his  imperi- 
ousness,  his  scolding,  and  his  good  nature. 

George's  education  was  confided  to  a  neighboring  scholar  and 
pedagogue,  who  "  prepared  young  noblemen  and  gentlemen  for 
the  universities,  the  senate,  and  the  learned  professions ;  whose 
system  did  not  embrace  the  degrading  corporal  severities  still 
practiced  at  the  ancient  places  of  education,  and  in  whose  family 
the  pupils  could  find  the  elegancies  of  refined  society  and  the 
confidence  and  affection  of  a  home."  It  was  in  this  way  that 
the  Reverend  Lawrence  Veal,  of  Hart  Street,  Bloomsbury,  Bare- 
acres,  strove  with  Mrs.  Veal,  his  wife,  to  entice  pupils. 

By  thus  advertising  and  pushing  sedulously,  the  domestic 
chaplain  and  his  lady  generally  succeeded  in  having  one  or  two 
scholars  by  them  who  paid  a  high  figure  and  were  thought 
to  be  in  uncommonly  comfortable  quarters.  There  was  a  large 
West  Indian,  whom  nobody  came  to  see,  with  a  mahogany  com- 
plexion, a  woolly  head,  and  an  exceedingly  dandified  appear- 
ance ;  there  was  another  hulking  boy  of  three-and-twenty,  whose 
education  had  been  neglected,  and  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veal 
were  to  introduce  into  the  polite  world;  there  were  two  sons  of 
Colonel  Bangles  of  the  East  India  Company's  Service;  these 
four  sat  down  to  dinner  at  Mrs.  Veal's  genteel  board,  when 
Georgy  was  introduced  to  her  establishment. 

Georgy  was,  like  some  dozen  other  pupils,  only  a  day  boy  ; 
he  arrived  in  the  morning  under  the  guardianship  of  his  friend 
Mr.  Rowson,  and  if  it  was  fine,  would  ride  away  in  the  after- 
noon on  his  pony  followed  by  the  groom.  The  wealth  of  his 
grandfather  was  reported  in  the  school  to  be  prodigious.  The 


272  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

Reverend  Mr.  Veal  used  to  compliment  Georgy  upon  it  person- 
ally, warning  him  that  he  was  destined  for  a  high  station  ;  that 
it  became  him  to  prepare,  by  sedulity  and  docility  in  youth,  for 
the  lofty  duties  to  which  he  would  be  called  in  mature  age ;  that 
obedience  in  the  child  was  the  best  preparation  for  command 
in  the  man ;  and  that  he  therefore  begged  George  would  not 
bring  toffy  into  the  school,  and  ruin  the  health  of  the  Master 
Bangles,  who  had  everything  they  wanted  at  the  elegant  and 
abundant  table  of  Mrs.  Veal. 

With  respect  to  learning,  "  the  Curriculum,"  as  Mr.  Veal  loved 
to  call  it^was  of  prodigious  extent;  and  the  young  gentlemen 
in  Hart  Street  might  learn  a  something  of  every  known  science. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Veal  had  an  orrery,  an  electrifying  machine, 
a  turning  lathe,  a  theater  (in  the  wash-house),  a  chemical  appa- 
ratus, and  what  he  called  a  select  library  of  all  the  works  of  the 
best  authors  of  ancient  and  modern  times  and  languages.  He 
took  the  boys  to  the  British  Museum,  and  descanted  upon  the 
antiquities  and  the  specimens  of  natural  history  there,  so  that 
audiences  would  gather  round  him  as  he  spoke,  and  all  Blooms- 
bury  highly  admired  him  as  a  prodigiously  well-informed  man. 
And  whenever  he  spoke  (which  he  did  almost  always),  he  took 
care  to  produce  the  very  finest  and  longest  words  of  which  the 
vocabulary  gave  him  the  use,  rightly  judging  that  it  was  as 
cheap  to  employ  a  handsome,  large,  and  sonorous  epithet  as  to 
use  a  little  stingy  one ! 

Thus  he  would  say  to  George  in  school :  "  I  observed  on  my 
return  home  from  taking  the  indulgence  of  an  evening's  scien- 
tific conversation  with  my  excellent  friend  Dr.  Bulders — a  true 
archseologian — that  the  windows  of  your  venerated  grandfath- 
er's almost  princely  mansion  in  Russell  Square  were  illuminated 
as  if  for  the  purposes  of  festivity.  Am  I  right  in  my  conjecture 
that  Mr.  Osborne  entertained  a  society  of  chosen  spirits  round 
his  sumptuous  board  last  night  ?  " 

Little  Georgy,  who  had  considerable  humor,  and  used  to  mimic 
Mr.  Veal  to  his  face  with  great  spirit  and  dexterity,  would  reply 
that  Mr.  V.  was  quite  correct  in  his  surmise. 


MR.    VEAL' 8  SCHOOL  273 

"  Then  those  friends  who  had  the  honor  of  partaking  of  Mr. 
Osborne's  hospitality,  gentlemen,  had  no  reason,  I  will  lay  any 
wager,  to  complain  of  their  repast.  I  myself  have  been  more 
than  once  so  favored.  (By  the  way,  Master  Osborne,  you  came 
a  little  late  this  morning,  and  have  been  a  defaulter  in  this 
respect  more  than  once.)  I  myself,  I  say,  gentlemen,  humble 
as  I  am,  have  been  found  not  unworthy  to  share  Mr.  Osborne's 
elegant  hospitality.  And  though  I  have  feasted  with  the  great 
and  noble  of  the  world — for  I  presume  that  I  may  call  my  excel- 
lent friend  and  patron,  the  Right  Honorable  George  Earl  of 
Bareacres,  as  one  of  the  number — yet  I  assure  you  that  th6 
board  of  the  British  merchant  was  to  the  full  as  richly  served, 
and  his  reception  as  gratifying  and  noble.  Mr.  Bluck,  sir,  we 
will  resume,  if  you  please,  that  passage  of  Eutropius  which  was 
interrupted  by  the  late  arrival  of  Master  Osborne." 

To  this  great  man  George's  education  was  for  some  time 
intrusted.  Amelia  was  bewildered  by  his  phrases,  but  thought 
him  a  prodigy  of  learning.  That  poor  widow  made  friends  of 
Mrs.  Veal,  for  reasons  of  her  own.  She  liked  to  be  in  the  house, 
and  see  Georgy  coming  to  school  there.  She  liked  to  be  asked 
to  Mrs.  Veal's  conversazioni,  which  took  place  once  a  month  (as 
you  were  informed  on  pink  cards,  with  A&flNH  engraved  on 
them),  and  where  the  professor  welcomed  his  pupils  and  their 
friends  to  weak  tea  and  scientific  conversation.  Poor  little 
Amelia  never  missed  one  of  these  entertainments,  and  thought 
them  delicious  so  long  as  she  might  have  Georgy  sitting  by  her. 
And  she  would  walk  from  Brompton  in  any  weather,  and  em- 
brace Mrs.  Veal  with  tearful  gratitude  for  the  delightful  even- 
ing she  had  passed,  when,  the  company  having  retired  and 
Georgy  gone  off  with  Mr.  Rowson,  his  attendant,  poor  Mrs. 
Osborne  put  on  her  cloaks  and  her  shawls  preparatory  to 
walking  home. 

As  for  the  learning  which  Georgy  imbibed  under  this  valu- 
able master  of  a  hundred  sciences,  to  judge  from  the  weekly 
reports  which  the  lad  took  home  to  his  grandfather,  his  prog- 
ress was  remarkable.  The  names  of  a  score  or  more  desirable 
s.  M.— 18 


274  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY 

branches  of  knowledge  were  printed  on  a  table,  and  the  pupil's 
progress  in  each  was  marked  by  the  professor.  In  Greek  Georgy 
was  pronounced  aristos,  in  Latin  optimus,  in  French  tres  bien, 
and  so  forth ;  and  everybody  had  prizes  for  everything  at  the 
end  of  the  year.  Even  Mr.  Swartz,  the  woolly-headed  young 
gentleman,  and  half-brother  to  the  Honorable  Mrs.  MacMull, 
and  Mr.  Bluck,  the  neglected  young  pupil  of  three-and-twenty 
from  the  agricultural  districts,  and  that  idle  young  scapegrace 
of  a  Master  Todd  before  mentioned,  received  little  eighteen- 
penny  books,  with  "  Athene  "  engraved  in  them,  and  a  pom- 
pous Latin  inscription  from  the  professor  to  his  young  friends. 

The  family  of  this  Master  Todd  were  hangers-on  of  the  house 
of  Osborne.  The  old  gentleman  had  advanced  Todd  from  being 
a  clerk  to  be  a  junior  partner  in  his  establishment. 

Mr.  Osborne  was  the  godfather  of  young  Master  Todd  (who 
in  subsequent  life  wrote  Mr.  Osborne  Todd  on  his  cards,  and 
became  a  man  of  decided  fashion),  while  Miss  Osborne  had 
accompanied  Miss  Maria  Todd  to  the  font,  and  gave  her  pro- 
tegee a  prayer-book,  a  collection  of  tracts,  a  volume  of  very  low- 
church  poetry,  or  some  such  memento  of  her  goodness  every 
year.  Miss  0.  drove  the  Todds  out  in  her  carriage  now  and 
then ;  when  they  were  ill,  her  footman,  in  large  plush  smalls 
and  waistcoat,  brought  jellies  and  delicacies  from  Russell  Square 
to  Coram  Street.  Coram  Street  trembled  and  looked  up  to  Rus- 
sell Square  indeed ;  and  Mrs.  Todd,  who  had  a  pretty  hand  at 
cutting  paper  trimmings  for  haunches  of  mutton,  and  could 
make  flowers,  ducks,  etc.,  out  of  turnips  and  carrots  in  a  very 
creditable  manner,  would  go  to  "  the  Square,"  as  it  was  called, 
and  assist  in  the  preparations  incident  to  a  great  dinner,  with- 
out even  so  much  as  thinking  of  sitting  down  to  the  banquet. 
If  any  guest  failed  at  the  eleventh  hour,  Todd  was  asked  to 
dine.  Mrs.  Todd  and  Maria  came  across  in  the  evening,  slipped 
in  with  a  muffled  knock,  and  were  in  the  drawing-room  by  the 
time  Miss  Osborne  and  the  ladies  under  her  convoy  reached  that 
apartment ;  and  ready  to  fire  off  duets  and  sing  until  the  gentle- 
men came  up.  Poor  Maria  Todd ;  poor  young  lady !  How  she 


MR.    VEAL'S  SCHOOL  275 

had  to  work  and  thrum  at  these  duets  and  sonatas  in  the  street, 
before  they  appeared  in  public  in  the  square ! 

Thus  it  seemed  to  be  decreed  by  fate,  that  Georgy  was  to 
domineer  over  everybody  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  and 
that  friends,  relatives,  and  domestics  were  all  to  bow  the  knee 
before  the  little  fellow.  It  must  be  owned  that  he  accommo- 
dated himself  very  willingly  to  this  arrangement.  Most  people 
do  so.  And  Georgy  liked  to  play  the  part  of  master,  and  per- 
haps had  a  natural  aptitude  for  it 

One  day  as  the  young  gentlemen  were  assembled  in  the  study 
at  the  .Reverend  Mr.  Veal's,  and  the  domestic  chaplain  to  the 
Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres  was  spouting  away  as 
usual — a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  decorated  with  the 
statue  of  Athene,  and  two  gentlemen  stepped  out.  The  young 
Masters  Bangles  rushed  to  the  window,  with  a  vague  notion 
that  their  father  might  have  arrived  from  Bombay.  The  great 
hulking  scholar  of  three-and-twenty,  who  was  crying  secretly 
over  a  passage  of  Eutropius,  flattened  his  neglected  nose  against 
the  panes,  and  looked  at  the  drag,  as  the  laquais  de  place  sprang 
from  the  box  and  let  out  the  persons  in  the  carriage. 

"  It's  a  fat  one  and  a  thin  one,"  Mr.  Bluck  said,  as  a  thunder- 
ing knock  came  to  the  door. 

Everybody  was  interested,  from  the  domestic  chaplain  him- 
self, who  hoped  he  saw  the  fathers  of  some  future  pupils,  down 
to  Master  Georgy,  glad  of  any  pretext  for  laying  his  book  down. 

The  boy  in  the  shabby  livery,  with  the  faded  copper  buttons, 
who  always  thrusts  himself  into  the  tight  coat  to  open  the  door, 
came  into  the  study  and  said,  "  Two  gentlemen  want  to  see 
Master  Osborne."  The  professor  had  had  a  trifling  altercation 
in  the  morning  with  that  young  gentleman,  owing  to  a  differ- 
ence about  the  introduction  of  crackers  in  school-time  ;  but  his 
face  resumed  its  habitual  expression  of  bland  courtesy,  as  he 
said,  "  Master  Osborne,  I  give  you  full  permission  to  go  and  see 
your  carriage  friends — to  whom  I  beg  you  to  convey  the  re- 
spectful compliments  of  myself  and  Mrs.  Veal." 

Georgy  went  into  the  reception  room,  and  saw  two  strangers, 


276  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 

whom  he  looked  at  with  his  head  up  in  his  usual  haughty 
manner.  One  was  fat,  with  mustachios,  and  the  other  was 
lean  and  long,  in  a  blue  frock-coat,  with  a  brown  face,  and  a 
grizzled  head. 

"  My  God,  how  like  he  is !  "  said  the  long  gentleman,  with  a 
start.  "  Can  you  guess  who  we  are,  George?  " 

The  boy's  face  flushed  up,  as  it  did  usually  when  he  was 
moved,  and  his  eyes  brightened.  "  I  don't  know  the  other," 
he  said,  "  but  I  should  think  you  must  be  Major  Dobbin." 

Indeed  it  was  our  old  friend.  His  voice  trembled  with  pleas- 
ure as  he  greeted  the  boy,  and,  taking  both  the  other's  hands 
in  his  own  drew  the  lad  to  him,  and  said : 

"  Your  mother  has  talked  to  you  about  me — has  she  ?  " 

"  That  she  has,"  Georgy  answered,  "  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  times." 

The  first  thing  Mrs.  Osborne  showed  the  major  was  George's 
miniature,  for  which  she  ran  up-stairs  on  her  arrival  at  home. 
It  was  not  half  handsome  enough,  of  course,  for  the  boy,  but 
wasn't  it  noble  of  him  to  think  of  bringing  it  to  his  mother? 
Whilst  her  papa  was  awake  she  did  not  talk  much  about 
Georgy.  To  hear  about  Mr.  Osborne  and  Russell  Square  was 
not  agreeable  to  the  old  man,  who  very  likely  was  unconscious 
that  he  had  been  living  for  some  months  past  mainly  on  the 
bounty  of  his  richer  rival ;  and  lost  his  temper  if  allusion  was 
made  to  the  other.  .  .  . 

At  his  accustomed  hour  Mr.  Sedley  began  to  doze  in  his 
chair,  and  then  it  was  Amelia's  opportunity  to  commence  her 
conversation,  which  she  did  with  great  eagerness ;  it  related 
exclusively  to  Georgy.  She  did  not  talk  at  all  about  her  own 
sufferings  at  breaking  from  him,  for  indeed  this  worthy  woman, 
though  she  was  half  killed  by  the  separation  from  the  child, 
yet  thought  it  was  very  wicked  in  her  to  repine  at  losing  him ; 
but  everything  concerning  him,  his  virtues,  talents,  and  pros- 
pects, she  poured  out.  She  described  his  angelic  beauty  ;  nar- 
rated a  hundred  instances  of  his  generosity  and  greatness  of 
mind  whilst  living  with  her ;  how  a  royal  duchess  had  stopped 


MR.    VEAL'S  SCHOOL  277 

and  admired  him  in  Kensington  Gardens ;  how  splendidly  he 
was  cared  for  now,  and  how  he  had  a  groom  and  a  pony ;  what 
quickness  and  cleverness  he  had,  and  what  a  prodigiously  well- 
read  and  delightful  person  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Veal  was, 
George's  master.  "  He  knows  everything,"  Amelia  said.  "  He 
has  the  most  delightful  parties.  You  who  are  so  learned  your- 
self, and  have  read  so  much,  and  are  so  clever  and  accomplished 
— don't  shake  your  head  and  say  no — he  always* used  to  say 
you  were — you  will  be  charmed  with  Mr.  Veal's  parties — the 
last  Tuesday  in  every  month.  He  says  there  is  no  place  in  the 
bar  or  the  senate  that  Georgy  may  not  aspire  to.  Look  here," 
and  she  went  to  the  piano-drawer  and  drew  out  a  theme  of 
Georgy's  composition.  This  great  effort  of  genius,  which  is 
still  in  the  possession  of  George's  mother,  is  as  follows : 

On  selfishness. — Of  all  the  vices  which  degrade  the  human  charac- 
ter, Selfishness  is  the  most  odious  and  contemptible.  An  undue  love 
of  Self  leads  to  the  most  monstrous  crimes,  and  occasions  the  greatest 
misfortunes  both  in  States  and  Families.  As  a  selfish  man  will  im- 
poverish his  family  and  often  bring  them  to  ruin,  so  a  selfish  king 
brings  ruin  on  his  people  and  often  plunges  them  into  war. 

Example :  The  selfishness  of  Achilles,  as  remarked  by  the  poet  Homer, 
occasioned  a  thousand  woes  to  the  Greeks — nvpi'  Axaiotf  a\yk  s'QrfMS 
—(Horn.  II.  A.  2).  The  selfishness  of  the  late  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
occasioned  innumerable  wars  in  Europe,  and  caused  him  to  perish, 
himself,  011  a  miserable  island — that  of  Saint  Helena  in  the  Atlantic 
Ocean. 

We  see  by  these  examples  that  we  are  not  to  consult  our  own  in- 
terest and  ambition,  but  that  we  are  to  consider  the  interests  of  others 
as  well  as  our  own. 

.    .  GEORGE  S.  OSBORNE. 

ATHENE  HOUSE,  April  26,  1823. 

"  Think  of  him  writing  such  a  hand,  and  quoting  Greek, 
too,  at  his  age,"  the  delighted  mother  said.  "  0  William," 
she  added,  holding  out  her  hand  to  the  major,  "  what  a 
treasure  Heaven  has  given  me  in  that  boy !  He  is  the 
comfort  of  my  life,  and  he  is  the  image  of— of  him  that's 
gone ! " 


THOMAS    HUGHES,    M.P. 

1823. 

THOMAS  HUGHES,  M.P.,  was  born  in  the  county  of  Berks,  England, 
in  1823.  His  family  is  an  old  one,  of  eminent  respectability.  When 
a  little  boy,  at  Twyford  school,  he  received  the  nickname  of  "Cad- 
mus," or  "Cad,"  from  an  amusing  blunder,  in  which  he  described  the 
ancient  worthy  of  that  name  as  a  postman,  or  mail-carrier,  because  he 
"  first  carried  letters  from  Asia  to  Greece."  At  ten  years  of  age  young 
Hughes  went  with  his  brother  to  the  school  of  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Arnold,  at  Rugby,  where  he  remained  eight  years.  He  was  graduated 
from  Oriel  College,  at  Oxford,  in  1845.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in 
1848,  and  became  a  liberal  in  politics.  He  entered  Parliament  in  1865, 
and  was  a  member  for  nine  years.  He  has  served  also  as  queen's 
counsel,  president  of  the  Workingmen's  College,  chief  manager  of  the 
Crystal  Palace  Company,  colonel  of  a  volunteer  rifle  company,  and 
county  judge  of  Cheshire.  He  visited  America  in  1870.  "Tom  Brown 
at  Rugby"  was  written  in  1858,  and  "Tom  Brown  at  Oxford  "  appeared 
four  years  later.  These,  together  with  "The  Life  of  Alfred  the  Great  " 
and  "  The  Manliness  of  Christ,"  are  his  most  famous  works. 

Characterization 

"Tom  Brown"  is  the  exact  picture  of  the  bright  side  of  a  school- 
boy's experiences,  told  with  a  life,  a  spirit,  and  a  fond  minuteness  of 
detail  and  recollection  which  are  infinitely  honorable  to  the  author. 
Many  have  received  equally  strong  impressions  from  their  passage 
through  a  public  school,  but  few  would,  we  think,  be  able  to  paint 
them  with  so  much  vigor  and  fidelity.  It  requires  so  much  courage, 
so  much  honesty,  so  much  purity,  to  traverse  that  stage  of  life  without 
doing  and  suffering  many  things  which  make  the  recollection  of  it 
painful,  that  a  man  who  can  honestly  describe  his  school  experience 
in  the  tone  which  the  author  of  "Tom  Brown"  maintains  throughout 
this  volume  without  an  effort,  has  a  very  high  claim,  indeed,  to  the 
respect  and  gratitude  of  his  readers.  It  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a 
more  cheerful  or  a  more  useful  lesson  to  a  public-school  boy.  Every 
corner  of  the  playhouse,  every  rule  of  football,  every  quaint  school 
278 


TOM  BROWNE  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  279 

usage,  almost  every  room  in  the  schoolhouse,  is  sketched  so  boldly,  yet 
so  accurately,  that  Rugboaans  will  no  doubt  be  able  to  realize  to  them- 
selves every  sentence  of  the  book.  Even  the  gentiles  of  Eton,  Har- 
row, or  Winchester,  bigoted  as  they  are  sure  to  be  in  favor  of  their 
own  institutions,  cannot  fail  to  see  that  Tom  Brown  was  a  very 
fine  fellow,  and  that,  although  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be  at  Rugby, 
they  can  hardly  do  better  than  to  follow  his  examples  in  several  par- 
ticulars. "EDINBURGH  REVIEW." 

I 

Chapters    from    "*Tom   Brown's  School-Days   at  Rugby" 

I 

The  chapel-bell  began  to  ring  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  and 
Tom  got  in  early  and  took  his  place  in  the  lowest  row,  and 
watched  all  the  other  boys  come  in  and  take  their  places,  fill- 
ing row  after  row ;  he  tried  to  construe  the  Greek  text  which 
was  inscribed  over  the  door  with  the  slightest  possible  success, 
and  wondered  which  of  the  masters,  who  walked  down  the 
chapel  and  took  their  seats  in  the  exalted  boxes  at  the  end, 
would  be  his  lord.  And  then  came  the  closing  of  the  doors, 
and  the  Doctor l  in  his  robes,  and  the  service,  which,  however, 
didn't  impress  him  much,  for  his  feeling  of  wonder  and  curios- 
ity was  too  strong.  And  the  boy  on  one  side  of  him  was  scratch- 
ing his  name  on  the  oak  paneling  in  front,  and  he  couldn't 
help  watching  to  see  what  the  name  was,  and  whether  it  was 
well  scratched ;  and  the  boy  on  the  other  side  went  to  sleep  and 
kept  falling  against  him ;  and  on  the  whole,  though  many  boys 
even  in  that  part  of  the  school,  were  serious  and  attentive,  the 
general  atmosphere  was  by  no  means  devotional ;  and  when  he 
got  into  the  close  again,  he  didn't  feel  at  all  comfortable,  or  as 
if  he  had  been  to  church. 

But  at  afternoon  chapel  it  was  quite  another  thing.  He  had 
spent  the  time  after  dinner  writing  home  to  his  mother,  and  so 
was  in  a  better  frame  of  mind ;  and  his  first  curiosity  was  over, 
and  he  could  attend  more  to  the  service.  As  the  hymn  after 
the  prayers  was  being  sung,  and  the  chapel  was  getting  a  little 
dark,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  had  been  really  worship- 

1  Dr.  Thomas  Arnold,  Head-master  of  the  school  of  Rugby 


280  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

ing.  And  then  came  the  great  event  in  his  life,  as  in  every 
Rugby  boy's  life  of  that  day — the  first  sermon  from  the  Doctor. 

More  worthy  pens  than  mine  have  described  that  scene.  The 
oak  pulpit  standing  out  by  itself  above  the  school  seats.  The 
tall,  gallant  form,  the  kindling  eye,  the  voice,  now  soft  as  the 
low  notes  of  a  flute,  now  clear  and  stirring  as  the  call  of  the 
light  infantry  bugle,  of  him  who  stood  there  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day, witnessing  and  pleading  for  his  Lord,  the  King  .of  right- 
eousness and  love  and  glory,  with  whose  spirit  he  was  filled, 
and  in  whose  power  he  spoke.  The  long  lines  of  young  faces 
rising  tier  above  tier  down  the  whole  length  of  the  chapel,  from 
the  little  boy's  who  had  just  left  his  mother  to  the  young  man's 
who  was  going  out  next  week  into  the  great  world  rejoicing  in 
his  strength.  It  was  a  great  and  solemn  sight,  and  never  more 
so  than  at  this  time  of  year,  when  the  only  lights  in  the  chapel 
were  in  the  pulpit  and  at  the  seats  of  the  praBpostors  of  the 
week,  and  the  soft  twilight  stole  over  the  rest  of  the  chapel, 
deepening  into  darkness  in  the  high  gallery  behind  the  organ. 

But  what  was  it,  after  all,  which  seized  and  held  these  three 
hundred  boys,  dragging  them  out  of  themselves,  willing  or 
unwilling,  for  twenty  minutes,  on  Sunday  afternoons?  True, 
there  always  were  boys  scattered  up  and  down  the  school  who 
in  heart  and  head  were  worthy  to  hear  and  able  to  carry  away 
the  deepest  and  wisest  words  there  spoken.  But  these  were  a 
minority  always,  generally  a  very  small  one,  often  so  small  a 
one  as  to  be  countable  on  the  fingers  of  your  hand.  What  was 
it  that  moved  and  held  us,  the  rest  of  the  three  hundred  reck- 
less, childish  boys,  who  feared  the  Doctor  with  all  our  hearts, 
and  very  little  besides  in  heaven  or  earth :  who  thought  more 
of  our  sets  in  the  school  than  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  put 
the  traditions  of  Rugby  and  the  public  opinion  of  boys  in  our 
daily  life  above  the  laws  of  God  ?  We  couldn't  enter  into  half 
that  we  heard;  we  hadn't  the  knowledge  of  our  own  hearts 
or  the  knowledge  of  one  another,  and  little  enough  of  the  faith, 
hope,  and  love  needed  to  that  end.  But  we  listened,  as  all  boys 
in  their  better  moods  will  listen  (aye,  and  men  too,  for  the  mat- 


TOM  BROWN' 8  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  281 

ter  of  that),  to  a  man  whom  we  felt  to  be,  with  all  his  heart, 
and  soul,  and  strength,  striving  against  whatever  was  mean, 
and  unmanly,  and  unrighteous  in  our  little  world.  It  was  not 
the  cold  clear  voice  of  one  giving  advice  and  warning  from 
serene  heights  to  those  who  were  struggling  and  sinning  below, 
but  the  warm  living  voice  of  one  who  was  fighting  for  us  and 
by  our  sides,  and  calling  on  us  to  help  him  and  ourselves  and 
one  another.  And  so,  wearily  and  little  by  little,  but  surely 
and  steadily,  on  the  whole,  was  brought  home  to  the  young  boy, 
for  the  first  time,  the  meaning  of  his  life, — that  it  was  no  fool's 
or  sluggard's  paradise  into  which  he  had  wandered  by  chance, 
but  a  battle-field  ordained  from  of  old,  where  there  are  no  spec- 
tators, but  the  youngest  must  take  his  side,  and  the  stakes  are 
life  and  death. 

And  he  who  roused  this  consciousness  in  them  showed  them 
at  the  same  time,  by  every  word  he  spoke  in  the  pulpit,  and  by 
his  whole  daily  life,  how  that  battle  was  to  be  fought,  and  stood 
there  before  them  their  fellow-soldier  and  the  captain  of  their 
band.  The  true  sort  of  captain,  too,  for  a  boy's  army,  one  who 
had  no  misgivings  and  gave  no  uncertain  word  of  command, 
and,  let  who  would  yield  or  make  truce,  would  fight  the  fight 
out  (so  every  boy  felt)  to  the  last  gasp  and  the  last  drop  of  blood. 
Other  sides  of  his  character  might  take  hold  of  and  influence 
boys  here  and  there,  but  it  was  this  thoroughness  and  undaunted 
courage  which,  more  than  anything  else,  won  his  way  to  the 
hearts  of  the  great  mass  of  those  on  whom  he  left  his  mark,  and 
made  them  believe  first  in  him,  and  then  in  his  Master. 

It  was  this  quality  above  all  others  which  moved  such  boys 
as  our  hero,  who  had  nothing  whatever  remarkable  about  him 
except  excess  of  boyishness,  by  which  I  mean  animal  life  in  its 
fullest  measure,  good  nature  and  honest  impulses,  hatred  of 
injustice  and  meanness,  and  thoughtlessness  enough  to  sink  a 
three-decker.  And  so,  during  the  next  two  years,  in  which  it 
was  more  than  doubtful  whether  he  would  get  good  or  evil 
from  the  school,  and  before  any  steady  purpose  or  principle 
grew  up  in  him,  whatever  his  week's  sins  and  shortcomings 


282  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

might  have  been,  he  hardly  ever  left  the  chapel  on  Sunday 
evenings  without  a  serious  resolve  to  stand  by  and  follow  the 
Doctor,  and  a  feeling  that  it  was  only  cowardice  (the  incarna- 
tion of  all  other  sins  in  such  a  boy's  mind)  which  hindered  him 
from  doing  so  with  all  his  heart. 

The  lower-fourth  form,1  in  which  Tom  found  himself  at  the 
beginning  of  the  next  half-year,  was  the  largest  form  in  the 
lower  school,  and  numbered  upwards  of  forty  boys.  Young 
gentlemen  of  all  ages,  from  nine  to  fifteen,  were  to  be  found 
there,  who  expended  such  part  of  their  energies  as  was  devoted 
to  Latin  and  Greek  upon  a  book  of  Livy,  the  Bucolics  of 
Virgil,  and  the  Hecuba  of  Euripides,  which  were  ground  out 
in  small  daily  portions.  The  driving  of  this  unlucky  fourth 
must  have  been  grievous  work  to  the  unfortunate  master,  for  it 
was  the  most  unhappily  constituted  of  any  in  the  school.  Here 
stuck  the  great  stupid  boys,  who  for  the  life  of  them  could 
never  master  the  accidence ;  the  objects  alternately  of  mirth 
and  terror  to  the  youngsters,  who  were  daily  taking  them  up, 
and  laughing  at  them  in  lesson,  and  getting  kicked  by  them 
for  so  doing  in  play-hours.  There  were  no  less  than  three  un- 
happy fellows  in  tail-coats,  with  incipient  down  on  their  chins, 
whom  the  Doctor  and  the  master  of  the  form  were  always  en- 
deavoring to  hoist  into  the  upper  school,  but  whose  parsing 
and  construing  resisted  the  most  well-meant  shoves.  Then 
came  the  mass  of  the  form,  boys  of  eleven  and  twelve,  the  most 
mischievous  and  reckless  age  of  British  youth,  of  whom  East 
and  Tom  Brown  were  fair  specimens.  As  full  of  tricks  as 
monkeys,  and  of  excuses  as  Irish  women,  making  fun  of  their 
master,  one  another,  and  their  lessons,  Argus  himself  would 
have  been  puzzled  to  keep  an  eye  on  them  ;  and  as  for  making 
them  steady  or  serious  for  half  an  hour  together,  it  was  simply 
hopeless.  The  remainder  of  the  form  consisted  of  young  prod- 
igies of  nine  and  ten,  who  were  going  up  the  school  at  the  rate 
of  a  form  a  half-year,  all  boys'  hands  and  wits  being  against 

1  class 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  283 

them  in  their  progress.  It  would  have  been  one  man's  work 
to  see  that  the  precocious  youngsters  had  fair  play ;  and  as  the 
master  had  a  good  deal  besides  to  do,  they  hadn't,  and  were 
forever  being  shoved  down  three  or  four  places,  their  verses 
stolen,  their  books  inked,  their  jackets  whitened,  and  their  lives 
otherwise  made  a  burden  to  them. 

The  lower  fourth,  and  all  the  forms  below  it,  were  heard  in 
the  great  school,  and  were  not  trusted  to  prepare  their  lessons 
before  coming  in,  but  were  whipped  into  school  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  before  the  lesson  began  by  their  respective  masters ; 
and  there,  scattered  about  on  the  benches,  with  dictionary  and 
grammar,  hammered  out  their  twenty  lines  of  Virgil  and 
Euripides  in  the  midst  of  Babel.  The  masters  of  the  lower 
school  walked  up  and  down  the  great  school  together  during 
the  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  or  sat  in  their  desks  reading  or 
looking  over  copies,  and  keeping  such  order  as  was  possible. 
But  the  lower  fourth  was  just  now  an  overgrown  form,  too 
large  for  any  one  man  to  attend  to  properly,  and  consequently 
the  elysium  or  ideal  form  of  the  young  scapegraces  who  formed 
the  staple  of  it. 

Tom,  as  has  been  said,  had  come  up  from  the  third  with  a 
good  character,  but  the  temptations  of  the  lower  fourth  soon 
proved  too  strong  for  him,  and  he  rapidly  fell  away,  and  be- 
came as  unmanageable  as  the  rest.  For  some  weeks,  indeed,  he 
succeeded  in  maintaining  the  appearance  of  steadiness,  and  was 
looked  upon  favorably  by  his  new  master,  whose  eyes  were  first 
opened  by  the  following  little  incident : 

Besides  the  desk  which  the  master  himself  occupied,  there 
was  another  large  unoccupied  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  great 
school,  which  was  untenanted.  To  rush  and  seize  upon  this  desk, 
which  was  ascended  by  three  steps,  and  held  four  boys,  was  the 
great  object  of  ambition  of  the  lower  fourthers ;  and  the  conten- 
tions for  the  occupation  of  it  bred  such  disorder,  that  at  last  the 
master  forbade  its  use  altogether.  This  of  course  was  a  chal- 
lenge to  the  more  adventurous  spirits  to  occupy  it,  and  as  it 
was  capacious  enough  for  two  boys  to  lie  hid  there  completely, 


284  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

it  was  seldom  that  it  remained  empty,  notwithstanding  the 
veto.  Small  holes  were  cut  in  the  front,  through  which  the 
occupants  watched  the  masters  as  they  walked  up  and  down, 
and  as  lesson  time  approached,  one  boy  at  a  time  stole  out  and 
down  the  steps,  as  the  masters'  backs  were  turned,  and  mingled 
with  the  general  crowd  on  the  forms  below.  Tom  and  East 
had  successfully  occupied  the  desk  some  half-dozen  times,  and 
were  grown  so  reckless  that  they  were  in  the  habit  of  playing 
small  games  with  fives'-balls  inside,  when  the  masters  were  at 
the  other  end  of  the  big  school.  One  day  as  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  the  game  became  more  exciting  than  usual,  and  the 
ball  slipped  through  East's  fingers  and  rolled  slowly  down  the 
steps,  and  out  into  the  middle  of  the  school,  just  as  the  masters 
turned  in  their  walk  and  faced  round  upon  the  desk.  The 
young  delinquents  watched  their  master  through  the  look-out 
holes  march  slowly  down  the  school  straight  upon  their  retreat, 
while  all  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood  of  course  stopped  their 
work  to  look  on  ;  and  not  only  were  they  ignominiously  drawn 
out,  and  caned  over  the  head  then  and  there,  but  their  charac- 
ters for  steadiness  were  gone  from  that  time.  However,  as  they 
only  shared  the  fate  of  some  three  fourths  of  the  rest  of  the 
form,  this  did  not  weigh  heavily  upon  them. 

In  fact,  the  only  occasions  on  which  they  cared  about  the 
matter  were  the  monthly  examinations,  when  the  Doctor  came 
round  to  examine  their  form,  for  one  long  awful  hour,  in  the 
work  which  they  had  done  in  the  preceding  month.  The 
second  monthly  examination  came  round  soon  after  Tom's  fall, 
and  it  was  with  anything  but  lively  anticipations  that  he  and 
the  other  lower-fourth  boys  came  into  prayers  on  the  morning 
of  the  examination  day. 

Prayers  and  calling-over  seemed  twice  as  short  as  usual,  and 
before  they  could  get  construes  of  a  tithe  of  the  hard  passages 
marked  in  the  margin  of  their  books,  they  were  all  seated 
round,  and  the  Doctor  was  standing  in  the  middle,  talking  in 
whispers  to  the  master.  Tom  couldn't  hear  a  word  which 
passed,  and  never  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  book ;  but  he  knew 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  285 

by  a  sort  of  magnetic  instinct  that  the  Doctor's  under  lip  was 
coming  out,  and  his  eye  beginning  to  burn,  and  his  gown  get- 
ting gathered  up  more  and  more  tightly  in  his  left  hand.  The 
suspense  was  agonizing,  and  Tom  knew  that  he  was  sure  on 
such  occasions  to  make  an  example  of  the  schoolhouse  boys. 
"  If  he  would  only  begin,"  thought  Tom,  "  I  shouldn't  mind." 

At  last  the  whispering  ceased,  and  the  name  which  was  called 
out  was  not  Brown.  He  looked  up  for  a  moment,  but  the 
Doctor's  face  was  too  awful ;  Tom  wouldn't  have  met  his  eye 
for  all  he  was  worth,  and  buried  himself  in  his  book  again. 

The  boy  who  was  called  up  first  was  a  clever,  merry  school- 
house  boy,  one  of  their  set ;  he  was  some  connection  of  the 
Doctor's,  and  a  great  favorite,  and  ran  in  and  out  of  his  house 
as  he  liked,  and  so  was  selected  for  the  first  victim. 

"  Triste  lupus  stabulis,"1  began  the  luckless  youngster,  and 
stammered  through  some  eight  or  ten  lines. 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  said  the  Doctor.     "  Now  construe." 

On  common  occasions  the  boy  could  have  construed  the 
passage  well  enough  probably,  but  now  his  head  was  gone. 

"  Triste  lupus, — the  sorrowful  wolf,"  he  began. 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  whole  form  and  the  Doctor's  wrath 
fairly  boiled  over ;  he  made  three  steps  up  to  the  construer,  and 
gave  him  a  good  box  on  the  ear.  The  blow  was  not  a  hard 
one,  but  the  boy  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  he  started  back ; 
the  form 2  caught  the  back  of  his  knees,  and  over  he  went  on 
the  floor  behind.  There  was  a  dead  silence  over  the  whole 
school ;  never  before  and  never  again  while  Tom  was  at  school 
did  the  Doctor  strike  a  boy  in  lesson.  The  provocation  must 
have  been  great.  However,  the  victim  had  saved  his  form  for 
that  occasion,  for  the  Doctor  turned  to  the  top  bench,  and  put 
on  the  best  boys  for  the  rest  of  the  hour ;  and  though  at  the 
end  of  the  lesson  he  gave  them  all  such  a  rating  as  they  did 
not  forget,  this  terrible  field-day  passed  over  without  any  severe 

1  The  wolf  is  fatal  to  the  flock.     The  word  triste  (fatal)  may  also  mean  "  sor- 
rowful. " 

2  bench 


286  THOMAS  HUGHES,  M.P. 

visitations  in  the  shape  of  punishments  or  floggings.  Forty 
young  scapegraces  expressed  their  thanks  to  the  "sorrowful 
wolf"  in  their  different  ways  before  second  lesson. 

But  a  character  for  steadiness  once  gone  is  not  easily  recov- 
ered, as  Tom  found,  and  for  years  afterwards  he  went  up  the 
school  without  it,  and  the  masters'  hands  were  against  him,  and 
his  against  them.  And  he  regarded  them,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
as  his  natural  enemies. 

Matters  were  not  so  comfortable,  either,  in  the  house  as  they 
had  been,  for  old  Brooke  left  at  Christmas,  and  one  or  two  others 
of  the  sixth-form  boys  at  the  following  Easter.  Their  rule  had 
been  rough,  but  strong  and  just  in  the  main,  and  a  higher 
standard  was  beginning  to  be  set  up ;  in  fact,  there  had  been 
a  short  foretaste  of  the  good  time  which  followed  some  years 
later.  Just  now,  however,  all  threatened  to  return  into  dark- 
ness and  chaos  again ;  for  the  new  praepostors  were  either  small 
young  boys,  whose  cleverness  had  carried  them  up  to  the  top 
of  the  school,  while  in  strength  of  body  and  character  they  were 
not  yet  fit  for  a  share  in  the  government ;  or  else  big  fellows  of 
the  wrong  sort,  boys  whose  friendships  and  tastes  had  a  down- 
ward tendency,  who  had  not  caught  the  meaning  of  their  posi- 
tion and  work,  and  felt  none  of  its  responsibilities.  So  under 
this  no-government  the  schoolhouse  began  to  see  bad  times. 
The  big  fifth-form  boys,  who  were  a  sporting  and  drinking  set, 
soon  began  to  usurp  power,  and  to  fag  the  little  boys  as  if  they 
were  praepostors,  and  to  bully  and  oppress  any  who  showed 
signs  of  resistance.  The  bigger  sort  of  sixth-form  boys  just 
described  soon  made  common  cause  with  the  fifth,  while  the 
smaller  sort,  hampered  by  their  colleagues'  desertion  to  the 
enemy,  could  not  make  head  against  them.  So  the  fags  were 
without  their  lawful  masters  and  protectors,  and  ridden  over 
rough-shod  by  a  set  of  boys  whom  they  were  not  bound  to  obey, 
and  whose  only  right  over  them  stood  in  their  bodily  powers ; 
and,  as  old  Brooke  had  prophesied,  the  house  by  degrees  broke 
up  into  small  sects  and  parties,  and  lost  the  strong  feeling  of 
fellowship  which  he  set  so  much  store  by,  and  with  it  much  of 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  287 

the  prowess  in  games,  and  the  lead  in  all  school  matters,  which 
he  had  done  so  much  to  keep  up. 

In  no  place  in  the  world  has  individual  character  more  weight 
than  at  a  public  school.  Remember  this,  I  beseech  you,  all  you 
boys  who  are  getting  into  the  upper  forms.  Now  is  the  time  in 
all  your  lives,  probably,  when  you  may  have  more  wide  influ- 
ence for  good  or  evil  on  the  society  you  live  in  than  you  ever 
can  have  again.  Quit  yourselves  like  men,  then;  speak  up, 
and  strike  out  if  necessary  for  whatsoever  is  true  and  manly 
and  lovely  and  of  good  report ;  never  try  to  be  popular,  but 
only  to  do  your  duty  and  help  others  to  do  theirs,  and  you  may 
leave  the  tone  of  feeling  in  the  school  higher  than  you  found 
it,  and  so  be  doing  good,  which  no  living  soul  can  measure,  to 
generations  of  your  countrymen  yet  unborn. 

But  now  came  on  the  May -fly  season  ;  the  soft  hazy  summer 
weather  lay  sleepily  along  the  rich  meadows  by  Avon  side,  and 
the  green  and  gray  flies  flickered  with  their  graceful,  lazy,  up 
and  down  flight  over  the  reeds  and  the  water  and  the  meadows, 
in  myriads  upon  myriads.  The  May-flies  must  surely  be  the 
lotus-eaters  of  the  ephemerae — the  happiest,  laziest,  carelessest 
fly  that  dances  and  dreams  out  his  few  hours  of  sunshiny  life 
by  English  rivers. 

Every  little  pitiful  coarse  fish  in  the  Avon  was  on  the  alert 
for  the  flies,  and  gorging  his  wretched  carcass  with  hundreds 
daily,  the  gluttonous  rogues!  and  every  lover  of  the  gentle 
craft  was  out  to  avenge  the  poor  May-flies. 

So  one  fine  Thursday  afternoon  Tom,  having  borrowed  East's 
new  rod,  started  by  himself  to  the  river.  He  fished  for  some 
time  with  small  success ;  not  a  fish  would  rise  at  him  ;  but,  as 
he  prowled  along  the  bank,  he  was  presently  aware  of  mighty 
ones  feeding  in  a  pool  on  the  opposite  side,  under  the  shade  of 
a  huge  willow-tree.  The  stream  was  deep  here,  but  some  fifty 
yards  below  was  a  shallow  for  which  he  made  off  hot-foot ;  and 
forgetting  landlords,  keepers,  solemn  prohibitions  of  the  Doctor, 
and  everything  else,  pulled  up  his  trousers,  plunged  across,  and 


288  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

in  three  minutes  was  creeping  along  on  all-fours  towards  the 
clump  of  willows. 

It  isn't  often  that  great  chub  or  any  other  coarse  fish  are  in 
earnest  about  anything,  but  just  then  they  were  thoroughly 
bent  on  feeding,  and  in  half  an  hour  Master  Tom  had  deposited 
three  thumping  fellows  at  the  foot  of  the  giant  willow.  As  he 
was  baiting  for  a  fourth  pounder,  and  just  going  to  throw  in 
again,  he  became  aware  of  a  man  coming  up  the  bank  not  one 
hundred  yards  off.  Another  look  told  him  that  it  was  the  un- 
der-keeper.  Could  he  reach  the  shallow  before  him  ?  No,  not 
carrying  his  rod.  Nothing  for  it  but  the  tree,  so  Tom  laid  his 
bones  to  it,  shinning  up  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  dragging  up 
his  rod  after  him.  He  had  just  time  to  reach  and  crouch  along 
upon  a  huge  branch  some  ten  feet  up,  which  stretched  out  over 
the  river,  when  the  keeper  arrived  at  the  clump.  Tom's  heart 
beat  fast  as  he  came  under  the  tree ;  two  steps  more  and  he 
would  have  passed,  when,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  gleam 
on  the  scales  of  the  dead  fish  caught  his  eye,  and  he  made  a 
dead  point  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  He  picked  up  the  fish  one 
by  one ;  his  eye  and  touch  told  him  that  they  had  been  alive 
and  feeding  within  the  hour.  Tom  crouched  lower  along  the 
branch,  and  heard  the  keeper  beating  the  clump.  "  If  I  could 
only  get  the  rod  hidden,"  thought  he,  and  began  gently  shift- 
ing it  to  get  it  alongside  him ;  "  willow  trees  don't  throw  out 
straight  hickory  shoots  twelve  feet  long,  with  no  leaves,  worse 
luck."  Alas  !  the  keeper  catches  the  rustle,  and  then  a  sight  of 
the  rod,  and  then  of  Tom's  hand  and  arm. 

"  Oh,  be  up  thur,  be  'ee?"  says  he  running  under  the  tree. 
"  Now  you  come  down  this  minute." 

"  Treed  at  last,"  thinks  Tom,  making  no  answer,  and  keep- 
ing as  close  as  possible,  but  working  away  at  the  rod,  which  he 
takes  to  'pieces :  "  I'm  in  for  it,  unless  I  can  starve  him  out." 
And  then  he  begins  to  meditate  getting  along  the  branch  for  a 
plunge  and  scramble  to  the  other  side  ;  but  the  small  branches 
are  so  thick,  and  the  opposite  bank  so  difficult,  that  the  keeper 
will  have  lots  of  time  to  get  round  by  the  ford  before  he  can  get 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  289 

out,  so  he  gives  that  up.  And  now  he  hears  the  keeper  begin- 
ning to  scramble  up  the  trunk.  That  will  never  do;  so  he 
scrambles  himself  back  to  where  his  branch  joins  the  trunk, 
and  stands  with  lifted  rod. 

"  Hullo,  Velveteens !  Mind  your  fingers  if  you  come  any 
higher." 

The  keeper  stops  and  looks  up,  and  then  with  a  grin  says, 
"Oh!  be  you,  be  it,  young  measter?  Well,  here's  luck. 
Now  I  tells  'ee  to  come  down  at  once,  and  't'll  be  best  for 
'ee." 

"  Thank  'ee,  Velveteens,  I'm  very  comfortable,"  said  Tom, 
shortening  the  rod  in  his  hand,  and  preparing  for  battle. 

"  Werry  "well,  please  yourself,"  says  the  keeper,  descending 
however  to  the  ground  again,  and  taking  his  seat  on  the  bank ; 
"  I  bean't  in  no  hurry,  so  you  med  take  your  time.  I'll  larn 
'ee  to  gee  honest  folk  names  afore  I've  done  with  'ee." 

"  My  luck  as  usual,"  thinks  Tom ;  "  what  a  fool  I  was  to  give 
him  a  black.  If  I'd  called  him  '  keeper,'  now,  I  might  get  off. 
The  return  match  is  all  his  way." 

The  keeper  quietly  proceeded  to  take  out  his  pipe,  fill  and 
light  it,  keeping  an  eye  on  Tom,  who  now  sat  disconsolately 
across  the  branch,  looking  at  the  keeper — a  pitiful  sight  for  men 
and  fishes.  The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  less  he  liked  it.  "  It 
must  be  getting  near  second  calling-over,"  thinks  he.  Keeper 
smokes  on  stolidly.  "  If  he  takes  me  up,  I  shall  be  flogged  safe 
enough.  I  can't  sit  here  all  night.  Wonder  if  he'll  rise  at 
silver." 

"  I  say,  keeper,"  said  he  meekly,  "  let  me  go  for  two  bob  ?  " 

"  Not  for  twenty  neither,"  grunts  his  persecutor. 

And  so  they  sat  on  till  long  past  second  calling-over,  and 
telling  of  locking-up  near  at  hand. 

"  I'm  coming  down,  keeper,"  said  Tom  at  last,  with  a  sigh, 
fairly  tired  out.  "  Now  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Walk  'ee  up  to  school,  and  give  'ee  over  to  the  Doctor ; 
them's  my  orders,"  says  Velveteens,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of 
his  fourth  pipe,  and  standing  up  and  shaking  himself. 

8     M  —Id 


290  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

11  Very  good,"  said  Tom ;  "  but  hands  off,  you  know.  I'll  go 
with  you  quietly,  so  no  collaring,  or  that  sort  of  thing." 

Keeper  looked  at  him  a  minute.  "  Werry  good,"  said  he  at 
last ;  and  so  Tom  descended,  and  wended  his  way  drearily  by ' 
the  side  of  the  keeper  up  to  the  schoolhouse,  where  they 
arrived  just  at  locking  up.  As  they  passed  the  school  gates,  the 
Tadpole,  and  several  others  who  were  standing  there,  caught 
the  state  of  things,  and  rushed  out,  crying,  "  Rescue !  "  but  Tom 
shook  his  head,  so  they  only  followed  to  the  Doctor's  gate,  and 
went  back  sorely  puzzled. 

How  changed  and  stern  the  Doctor  seemed  from  the  last  time 
that  Tom  was  up  there,  as  the  keeper  told  the  story,  not 
omitting  to  state  how  Tom  had  called  him  blackguard  names. 
"  Indeed,  sir,"  broke  in  the  culprit,  "  it  was  only  Velveteens." 
The  Doctor  only  asked  one  question. 

"  You  know  the  rule  about  the  banks,  Brown  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  wait  for  me  to-morrow,  after  first  lesson." 

"  I  thought  so,"  muttered  Tom. 

"  And  about  the  rod,  sir  ? "  went  on  the  keeper ;  "  Master's 
told  we  as  we  might  have  all  the  rods " 

"  Oh,  please,  sir,"  broke  in  Tom,  "  the  rod  isn't  mine."  The 
Doctor  looked  puzzled,  but  the  keeper,  who  was  a  good-hearted 
fellow,  and  melted  at  Tom's  evident  distress,  gave  up  his  claim. 
Tom  was  flogged  next  morning,  and  a  few  days  afterwards  met 
Velveteens,  and  presented  him  with  half-a-crown  for  giving  up 
the  rod  claim,  and  they  became  sworn  friends  ;  and  I  regret  to 
say  that  Tom  had  many  more  fish  from  under  the  willow  that 
May -fly  season,  and  was  never  caught  again  by  Velveteens. 

It  wasn't  three  weeks  before  Tom,  and  now  East  by  his  side, 
were  again  in  the  awful  presence.  This  time,  however,  the 
Doctor  was  not  so  terrible.  A  few  days  before,  they  had  been 
fagged  at  fives  to  fetch  the  balls  that  went  off  the  court.  While 
standing  watching  the  game,  they  saw  five  or  six  nearly  new 
balls  hit  on  the  top  of  the  school.  "  I  say,  Tom,"  said  East,  when 
they  were  dismissed,  "  couldn't  we  get  those  balls  somehow  ? " 


TOM  BROWN' 8  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  291 

"  Let's  try,  anyhow." 

So  they  reconnoitered  the  walls  carefully,  borrowed  a  coal 
hammer  from  old  Stumps,  bought  some  big  nails,  and  after  one 
or  two  attempts,  scaled  the  school,  and  possessed  themselves  of 
huge  quantities  of  fives'-balls.  The  place  pleased  them  so 
much  that  they  spent  all  their  spare  time  there,  scratching  and 
cutting  their  names  on  the  top  of  every  tower ;  and  at  last,  hav- 
ing exhausted  all  other  places,  finished  up  with  inscribing,  H. 
EAST,  T.  BROWN,  on  the  minute-hand  of  the  great  clock,  in  the 
doing  of  which  they  held  the  minute-hand,  and  disturbed  the 
clock's  economy.  So  next  morning,  when  master  and  boys 
came  trooping  down  to  prayers,  and  entered  the  quadrangle, 
the  injured  minute-hand  was  indicating  three  minutes  to  the 
hour.  They  all  pulled  up,  and  took  their  time.  When  the 
hour  struck,  doors  were  closed,  and  half  the  school  late. 
Thomas  being  set  to  make  inquiry,  discovers  their  names  on 
the  minute-hand,  and  reports  accordingly ;  and  they  are  sent 
for,  a  knot  of  their  friends  making  derisive  and  pantomimic 
allusions  to  what  their  fate  would  be,  as  they  walk  off. 

But  the  Doctor,  after  hearing  their  story,  doesn't  make  much 
of  it,  and  only  gives  them  thirty  lines  of  Homer  to  learn  by 
heart,  and  a  lecture  on  the  likelihood  of  such  exploits  ending  in 
broken  bones. 

Alas !  almost  the  next  day  was  one  of  the  great  fairs  in  the 
town;  and  as  several  rows  and  other  disagreeable  accidents 
had  of  late  taken  place  on  these  occasions,  the  Doctor  gives  out, 
after  prayers  in  the  morning,  that  no  boy  is  to  go  down  into 
the  town.  Wherefore  East  and  Tom,  for  no  earthly  pleasure 
except  that  of  doing  what  they  were  told  not  to  do,  start  away, 
after  second  lesson,  and  making  a  short  circuit  through  the 
fields,  strike  a  back  lane  which  leads  into  the  town,  go  down  it, 
and  run  plump  upon  one  of  the  masters  as  they  emerge  into 
the  High  Street.  The  master  in  question,  though  a  very  clever, 
is  not  a  righteous  man  :  he  has  already  caught  several  of  his 
own  pupils,  and  gives  them  lines  to  learn,  while  he  sends  East 
and  Tom,  who  are  not  his  pupils,  up  to  the  Doctor,  who,  on 


292  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

learning  that  they  had  been  at  prayers  in  the  morning,  flogs 
them  soundly. 

The  flogging  did  them  no  good  at  the  time,  for  the  injustice 
of  their  captor  was  rankling  in  their  minds  ;  but  it  was  just  the 
end  of  the  half,  and  on  the  next  evening  but  one  Thomas 
knocks  at  their  door,  and  says  the  Doctor  wants  to  see  them. 
They  look  at  one  another  in  silent  dismay.  What  can  it  be 
now?  Which  of  their  countless  wrong-doings  can  he  have 
heard  of  officially  ?  However,  it's  no  use  delaying,  so  up  they 
go  to  the  study.  There  they  find  the  Doctor,  not  angry,  but  very 
grave.  "  He  has  sent  for  them  to  speak  very  seriously  before 
they  go  home.  They  have  each  been  flogged  several  times  in 
the  half-year  for  direct  and  willful  breaches  of  rules.  This 
cannot  go  on.  They  are  doing  no  good  to  themselves  or 
others,  and  now  they  are  getting  up  in  the  school,  and  have 
influence.  They  seem  to  think  that  rules  are  made  capri- 
ciously, and  for  the  pleasure  of  the  masters ;  but  this  is  not  so — 
they  are  for  the  good  of  the  whole  school,  and  must  and  shall 
be  obeyed.  Those  who  thoughtlessly  or  willfully  break  them 
will  not  be  allowed  to  stay  at  the  school.  He  should  be  sorry 
if  they  had  to  leave,  as  the  school  might  do  them  both  much 
good,  and  wishes  them  to  think  very  seriously  in  the  holidays 
over  what  he  has  said.  Good-night." 

And  so  the  two  hurry  off  horribly  scared  :  the  idea  of  having 
to  leave  has  never  crossed  their  minds,  and  is  quite  unbearable. 

As  they  go  out,  they  meet  at  the  door  old  Holmes,  a  sturdy, 
cheery  praepostor  of  another  house,  who  goes  in  to  the  Doctor ; 
and  they  hear  his  genial  hearty  greeting  of  the  new-comer,  so 
different  from  their  own  reception,  as  the  door  closes,  and  return 
to  their  study  with  heavy  hearts,  and  tremendous  resolves  to 
break  no  more  rules. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  the  master  of  their  form,  a  late 
arrival  and  a  model  young  master,  knocks  at  the  Doctor's  study 
door.  "  Come  in !  "  and  as  he  enters,  the  Doctor  goes  on  to 
Holmes — "  you  see  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  case  offi- 
cially, and  if  I  take  any  notice  of  it  at  all,  I  must  publicly 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  293 

expel  the  boy.  I  don't  wish  to  do  that,  for  I  think  there  is 
some  good  in  him.  There's  nothing  for  it  but  a  good  sound 
thrashing."  He  paused  to  shake  hands  with  the  master,  which 
Holmes  does  also,  and  then  prepares  to  leave. 

"  I  understand.     Good-night,  sir." 

"  Good-night,  Holmes.  And  remember,"  added  the  Doctor, 
emphasizing  the  words,  "  a  good  sound  thrashing  before  the 
whole  house." 

The  door  closed  on  Holmes ;  and  the  Doctor,  in  answer  to 
the  puzzled  look  of  his  lieutenant,  explained  shortly.  "A 
gross  case  of  bullying.  Wharton,  the  head  of  the  house,  is  a 
very  good  fellow,  but  slight  and  weak,  and  severe  physical  pain 
is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  such  a  case ;  so  I  have  asked 
Holmes  to  take  it  up.  He  is  very  careful  and  trustworthy,  and 
has  plenty  of  strength.  I  wish  all  the  sixth  had  as  much.  We 
must  have  it  here,  if  we  are  to  keep  order  at  all." 

Now  I  don't  want  any  wiseacres  to  read  this  book;  but  if 
they  should,  of  course  they  will  prick  up  their  long  ears,  and 
howl,  or  rather  bray,  at  the  above  story.  Ver}^  good,  I  don't 
object ;  but  what  I  have  to  add  for  you  boys  is  this,  that 
Holmes  called  a  levy  of  his  house  after  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing, made  them  a  speech  on  the  case  of  bullying  in  question, 
and  then  gave  the  bully  a  "  good  sound  thrashing ;  "  and  that 
years  afterwards,  that  boy  sought  out  Holmes,  and  thanked 
him,  saying  it  had  been  the  kindest  act  which  had  ever  been 
done  upon  him,  and  the  turning-point  in  his  character ;  and  a 
very  good  fellow  he  became,  and  a  credit  to  his  school. 

After  some  other  talk  between  them,  the  Doctor  said,  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  two  boys  in  your  form,  East  and  Brown : 
I  have  just  been  speaking  to  them.  What  do  you  think  of 
them?" 

"  Well,  they  are  not  hard  workers,  and  very  thoughtless  and 
full  of  spirits ;  but  I  can't  help  liking  them.  I  think  they  are 
sound,  good  fellows  at  the  bottom." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  I  think  so  too.  But  they  make  me  very 
uneasy.  They  are  taking  the  lead  a  good  deal  amongst  the 


294  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

fags  in  my  house,  for  they  are  very  active,  bold  fellows.  I 
should  be  very  sorry  to  lose  them,  but  I  shan't  let  them  stay  if 
I  don't  see  them  gaining  character  and  manliness.  In  another 
year  they  may  do  great  harm  to  all  the  younger  boys." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  won't  send  them  away,"  pleaded  their 
master. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  now  I  never  feel  sure,  after  any 
half-holiday,  that  I  shan't  have  to  flog  one  of  them  next  morn- 
ing,  for  some  foolish,  thoughtless  scrape.  I  quite  dread  seeing 
either  of  them." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  minute.  Presently  the  Doctor 
began  again  : 

"  They  don't  feel  that  they  have  any  duty  or  work  to  do  in 
the  school,  and  how  is  one  to  make  them  feel  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  if  either  of  them  had  some  little  boy  to  take  care  of, 
it  would  steady  them.  Brown  is  the  more  reckless  of  the  two,  I 
should  say ;  East  wouldn't  get  into  so  many  scrapes  without 
him." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  something  like  a  sigh,  "  I'll 
think  of  it."  And  they  went  on  to  talk  of  other  subjects. 

Another  two  years  have  passed,  and  it  is  again  the  end  of  the 
summer  half-year  at  Rugby  ;  in  fact,  the  school  has  broken  up. 
The  fifth-form  examinations  were  over  last  week,  and  upon 
them  have-  followed  the  speeches,  and  the  sixth-form  examina- 
tions for  exhibitions ;  and  they  too  are  over  now.  The  boys 
have  gone  to  all  the  winds  of  heaven,  except  the  town  boys 
and  the  eleven,  and  the  few  enthusiasts  besides  who  have  asked 
leave  to  stay  in  their  houses  to  see  the  result  of  the  cricket 
matches.  For  this  year  the  Wellesburn  return  match  and  the 
Marylebone  match  are  played  at  Rugby,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  town  and  neighborhood,  and  the  sorrow  of  those  aspiring 
young  cricketers  who  have  been  reckoning  for  the  last  three 
months  on  showing  off  at  Lords'  ground. 

The  Doctor  started  for  the  Lakes  yesterday  morning,  after  an 
interview  with  the  captain  of  the  eleven,  in  the  presence  of 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  295 

Thomas,  at  which  he  arranged  in  what  School  the  cricket  din- 
ners were  to  be,  and  all  other  matters  necessary  for  the  satis- 
factory carrying  out  of  the  festivities ;  and  warned  them  as  to 
keeping  all  spirituous  liquors  out  of  the  close,  and  having  the 
gates  closed  by  nine  o'clock. 

There  is  much  healthy,  hearty,  happy  life  scattered  up  and 
down  the  close  ;  but  the  group  to  which  I  beg  to  call  your  espe- 
cial attention  is  there,  on  the  slope  of  the  island,  which  looks 
towards  the  cricket-ground.  It  consists  of  three  figures ;  two 
are  seated  on  a  bench,  and  one  on  the  ground  at  their  feet. 
The  first,  a  tall,  slight,  and  rather  gaunt  man,  with  a  bushy 
eyebrow,  and  a  dry,  humorous  smile,  is  evidently  a  clergyman. 
He  is  carelessly  dressed,  and  looks  rather  used  up,  which  isn't 
much  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  he  has  just  finished  six 
weeks  of  examination  work  ;  but  there  he  basks,  and  spreads 
himself  out  in  the  evening  sun,  bent  on  enjoying  life,  though  he 
doesn't  quite  know  what  to  do  with  his  arms  and  legs.  Surely 
it  is  our  friend  the  young  master,  whom  we  have  had  glimpses 
of  before,  but  his  face  has  gained  a  great  deal  since  we  last  came 
across  him. 

And  by  his  side,  in  white  flannel  shirt  and  trousers,  straw 
hat,  the  captain's  belt,  and  the  untanned  yellow  cricket  shoes 
which  all  the  eleven  wear,  sits  a  strapping  figure,  nearly  six 
feet  high,  with  ruddy  tanned  face  and  whiskers,  curly  brown 
hair,  and  a  laughing,  dancing  eye.  He  is  leaning  forward  with 
his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  and  dandling  his  favorite  bat, 
with  which  he  has  made  thirty  or  forty  runs  to-day,  in  his 
strong  brown  hands.  It  is  Tom  Brown,  grown  into  a  young 
man  nineteen  years  old,  a  praepostor  and  captain  of  the  eleven, 
spending  his  last  day  as  a  Rugby-boy,  and  let  us  hope  as  much 
wiser  as  he  is  bigger,  since  we  last  had  the  pleasure  of  coming 
across  him. 

And  at  their  feet  on  the  warm  dry  ground,  similarly  dressed, 
sits  Arthur,  Turkish  fashion,  with  his  bat  across  his  knees.  He 
too  is  no  longer  a  boy,  less  of  a  boy  in  fact  than  Tom,  if  one  may 


296  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

judge  from  the  thoughtfulness  of  his  face,  which  is  somewhat 
paler,  too,  than  one  could  wish ;  but  his  figure,  though  slight,  is 
well-knit  and  active,  and  all  his  old  timidity  has  disappeared, 
and  is  replaced  by  silent  quaint  fun,  with  which  his  face 
twinkles  all  over,  as  he  listens  to  the  broken  talk  between  the 
other  two,  in  which  he  joins  every  now  and  then. 

All  three  are  watching  the  game  eagerly,  and  joining  in  the 
cheering  which  follows  every  good  hit.  It  is  pleasing  to  see  the 
easy  friendly  footing  which  the  pupils  are  on  with  their  master, 
perfectly  respectful,  yet  with  no  reserve  and  nothing  forced  in 
their  intercourse.  Tom  has  clearly  abandoned  the  old  theory 
of  "  natural  enemies,"  in  this  case  at  any  rate. 

But  it  is  time  to  listen  to  what  they  are  saying,  and  see  what 
we  can  gather  out  of  it. 

"  Oh,  Brown,  mayn't  I  go  in  next  ?  "  shouts  the  swiper. 

"  Whose  name  is  next  on  the  list  ?  "  says  the  captain. 

"  Winter's,  and  then  Arthur's,"  answers  the  boy  who  carries 
it ;  "  but  there's  only  twenty-six  runs  to  get,  and  no  time  to  lose. 
I  heard  Mr.  Aislabie  say  that  the  stumps  must  be  drawn  at  a 
quarter  past  eight  exactly." 

"Oh,  do  let  the  Swiper  go  in,"  chorus  the  boys;  so  Tom 
yielded  against  his  better  judgment. 

"  I  dare  say  now  I've  lost  the  match  by  this  nonsense,"  he 
says,  as  he  sits  down  again ;  "  they'll  be  sure  to  get  Jack's 
wicket  in  three  or  four  minutes ;  however,  you'll  have  the 
chance,  sir,  of  seeing  a  hard  hit  or  two,"  adds  he,  smiling,  and 
turning  to  the  master. 

"  Come,  none  of  your  irony,  Brown,"  answers  the  master. 
"  I'm  beginning  to  understand  the  game  scientifically.  What  a 
noble  game  it  is  too !  " 

"  Isn't  it  ?  But  it's  more  than  a  game — it's  an  institution," 
said  Tom. 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "  the  birthright  of  British  boys,  old 
and  young,  as  habeas  corpus  and  trial  by  jury  are  of  British 
men." 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  297 

"  The  discipline  and  reliance  on  one  another  which  it  teaches 
is  so  valuable,  I  think,"  went  on  the  master,  "  it  ought  to  be 
such  an  unselfish  game.  It  merges  the  individual  in  the 
eleven ;  he  doesn't  play  that  he  may  win,  but  that  his  side 
may." 

"  That's  very  true,"  said  Tom,  "  and  that's  why  football  and 
cricket,  now  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  are  so  much  better  games 
than  fives'  or  hare-and-hounds,  or  any  other,  where  the  object 
is  to  come  in  first  or  to  win  for  one's  self,  and  not  that  one's 
side  may  win." 

"  And  then  the  captain  of  the  eleven !  "  said  the  master, 
"  what  a  post  is  his  in  our  school  world  !  almost  as  hard  as  the 
Doctor's ;  requiring  skill  and  gentleness  and  firmness,  and  I 
know  not  what  other  rare  qualities." 

"  Which  don't  he  wish  he  may  get  ?  "  said  Tom,  laughing ; 
"  at  any  rate,  he  hasn't  got  them  yet,  or  he  wouldn't  have  been 
such  a  flat  to-night  as  to  let  Jack  Haggles  go  in  out  of  his 
turn." 

"  Ah  !  the  Doctor  never  would  have  done  that,"  said  Arthur, 
demurely.  "  Tom,  you've  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet  in  the  art  of 
ruling." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  tell  the  Doctor  so,  then,  and  get  him  to 
let  me  stop  till  I'm  twenty.  I  don't  want  to  leave,  I'm  sure." 

"  What  a  sight  it  is,"  broke  in  the  master,  "  the  Doctor  as  a 
ruler.  Perhaps  ours  is  the  only  little  corner  of  the  British 
empire  which  is  thoroughly,  wisely,  and  strongly  ruled  just 
now.  I'm  more  and  more  thankful  every  day  of  my  life  that  I 
came  here  to  be  under  him." 

"  So  am  I,  I'm  sure,"  said  Tom ;  "  and  more  and  more  sorry 
that  I've  got  to  leave." 

"  Every  place  and  thing  one  sees  here  reminds  one  of  some 
wise  act  of  his,"  went  on  the  master.  "  This  island  now — you 
remember  the  time,  Brown,  when  it  was  laid  out  in  small 
gardens,  and  cultivated  by  frost-bitten  fags  in  February  and 
March?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Tom ;  "  didn't  I  hate  spending  two 


298  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

hours  in  the  afternoons  grubbing  in  the  tough  dirt  with  the 
stump  of  a  fives'-bat?  But  turf-cart  was  good  fun  enough." 

"  I  dare  say  it  was,  but  it  was  always  leading  to  fights  with 
the  townspeople ;  and  then  the  stealing  flowers  out  of  all  the 
gardens  in  Rugby  for  the  Easter  show  was  abominable." 

"  Well,  so  it  was,"  said  Tom,  looking  down,  "  but  we  fags 
couldn't  help  ourselves.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  the 
Doctor's  ruling  ?  " 

"A  great  deal,  I  think,"  said  the  master;  "what  brought 
island-fagging  to  an  end  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Easter  speeches  were  put  off  till  midsummer," 
said  Tom,  "and  the  sixth  had  the  gymnastic  poles  put  up  here." 

"  Well,  and  who  changed  the  time  of  the  speeches,  and  put 
the  idea  of  gymnastic  poles  into  the  heads  of  their  worships  the 
sixth  form  ?  "  said  the  master. 

"  The  Doctor,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom.  "  I  never  thought  of 
that." 

"  Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  the  master,  "  or  else,  fag  as  you 
were,  you  would  have  shouted  with  the  whole  school  against  put- 
ting down  old  customs.  And  that's  the  way  that  all  the  Doctor's 
reforms  have  been  carried  out  when  he  has  been  left  to  him- 
self— quietly  and  naturally,  putting  a  good  thing  in  the  place 
of  a  bad,  and  letting  the  bad  die  out ;  no  wavering  and  no 
hurry — the  best  thing  that  could  be  done  for  the  time  being, 
and  patience  for  the  rest." 

"Just  Tom's  own  way,"  chimed  in  Arthur,  nudging  Tom 
with  his  elbow, "  driving  a  nail  where  it  will  go,"  to  which  allu- 
sion Tom  answered  by  a  sly  kick. 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  the  master,  innocent  of  the  allusion  and 
by-play. 

As  Tom  and  the  rest  of  the  eleven  were  turning  back  into 
the  close,  and  everybody  was  beginning  to  cry  out  for  another 
country-dance,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  the  night  before, 
the  young  master,  who  was  just  leaving  the  close,  stopped  him, 
and  asked  him  to  come  up  to  tea  at  half-past  eight,  adding,  "  I 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  299 

won't  keep  you  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  ask  Arthur  to 
come  up  too." 

"  I'll  come  up  with  you  directly,  if  you'll  let  me,"  said  Tom, 
"  for  I  feel  rather  melancholy,  and  not  quite  up  to  the  country- 
dance  and  supper  with  the  rest." 

"  Do  by  all  means,"  said  the  master ;  "  I'll  wait  here  for 
you." 

So  Tom  went  off  to  get  his  boots  and  things  from  the  tent, 
to  tell  Arthur  of  the  invitation,  and  to  speak  to  his  second  in 
command  about  stopping  the  dancing  and  shutting  up  the 
close  as  soon  as  it  grew  dusk.  Arthur  promised  to  follow 
as  soon  as  he  had  a  dance.  So  Tom  handed  his  things  over 
to  the  man  in  charge  of  the  tent,  and  walked  quietly  away  to 
the  gate  where  the  master  was  waiting,  and  the  two  took  their 
way  together  up  the  Hillmorton  road. 

Of  course  they  found  the  master's  house  locked  up,  and  all 
the  servants  away  in  the  close,  about  this  time,  no  doubt  footing 
it  away  on  the  grass  with  extreme  delight  to  themselves,  and  in 
utter  oblivion  of  the  unfortunate  bachelor  their  master,  whose 
one  enjoyment  in  the  shape  of  meals  was  his  "dish  of  tea  "  (as 
our  grandmothers  called  it)  in  the  evening;  and  the  phrase 
was  apt  in  his  case,  for  he  always  poured  his  out  into  the  saucer 
before  drinking.  Great  was  the  good  man's  horror  at  finding 
himself  shut  out  of  his  own  house.  Had  he  been  alone  he 
would  have  treated  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  would  have 
strolled  contentedly  up  and  down  his  gravel-walk  until  some 
one  came  home  ;  but  he  was  hurt  at  the  stain  on  his  character 
of  host,  especially  as  the  guest  was  a  pupil.  However,  the  guest 
seemed  to  think  it  a  great  joke,  and  presently,  as  they  poked 
about  round  the  house,  mounted  a  wall,  from  which  he  could 
reach  a  passage  window :  the  window,  as  it  turned  out,  was  not 
bolted,  so  in  another  minute  Tom  was  in  the  house  and  down 
at  the  front  door,  which  he  opened  from  inside.  The  master 
chuckled  grimly  at  this  burglarious  entry,  and  insisted  on 
leaving  the  hall-door  and  two  of  the  front  windows  open  to 
frighten  the  truants  on  their  return;  and  then  the  two  set 


300  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

about  foraging  for  tea,  in  which  operation  the  master  was  much 
at  fault,  having  the  faintest  possible  idea  of  where  to  find 
anything,  and  being,  moreover,  wondrously  short-sighted  ;  but 
Tom  by  a  sort  of  instinct  knew  the  right,  cupboards  in  the 
kitchen  and  pantry,  and  soon  managed  to  place  on  the  snug- 
gery table  better  materials  for  a  meal  than  had  appeared  there 
probably  during  the  reign  of  his  tutor,  who  was  then  and  there 
initiated,  amongst  other  things,  into  the  excellence  of  that  mys- 
terious condiment,  a  dripping-cake.  The  cake  was  newly  baked, 
and  all  rich  and  flaky ;  Tom  had  found  it  reposing  in  the 
cook's  private  cupboard,  awaiting  her  return ;  and  as  a  warning 
to  her  they  finished  it  to  the  last  crumb.  The  kettle  sang  away 
merrily  on  the  hob  of  the  snuggery,  for,  notwithstanding  the 
time  of  year,  they  lighted  a  fire,  throwing  both  the  windows 
wide  open  at  the  same  time ;  the  heap  of  books  and  papers  were 
pushed  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  the  great  solitary 
engraving  of  King's  College  Chapel  over  the  mantelpiece  looked 
less  stiff  than  usual,  as  they  settled  themselves  down  in  the 
twilight  to  the  serious  drinking  of  tea. 

After  some  talk  on  the  match,  and  other  different  subjects, 
the  conversation  came  naturally  back  to  Tom's  approaching 
departure,  over  which  he  began  again  to  make  his  moan. 

"  Well,  we  shall  all  miss  you  quite  as  much  as  you  will  miss 
us,"  said  the  master.  "  You  are  the  Nestor  of  the  school  now, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ever  since  East  left,"  answered  Tom. 

"  By  the  bye,  have  you  heard  from  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  letter  in  February  just  before  he  started  for 
India  to  join  his  regiment." 

"  He  will  make  a  capital  officer." 

"  Ay,  won't  he  !  "  said  Tom  brightening  ;  "  no  fellow  could 
handle  boys  better,  and  I  suppose  soldiers  are  very  like  boys. 
And  he'll  never  tell  them  to  go  where  he  won't  go  himself.  No 
mistake  about  that — a  braver  fellow  never  walked." 

"  His  year  in  the  sixth  will  have  taught  him  a  good  deal 
that  will  be  useful  to  him  now." 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  301 

"  So  it  will,"  said  Tom,  staring  into  the  fire.  "  Poor,  dear 
Harry,"  he  went  on,  "  how  well  I  remember  the  day  we  were 
put  out  of  the  twenty.  How  he  rose  to  the  situation,  and 
burned  his  cigar-cases,  and  gave  away  his  pistols,  and  pondered 
on  the  constitutional  authority  of  the  sixth,  and  his  new  duties 
to  the  Doctor,  and  the  fifth  form  and  the  fags.  Ay,  and  no 
fellow  ever  acted  up  to  them  better,  though  he  was  always  a 
people's  man — for  the  fags,  and  against  constituted  authorities. 
He  couldn't  help  that,  you  know.  I'm  sure  the  Doctor  must 
have  liked  him  ?  "  said  Tom,  looking  up  inquiringly. 

"  The  Doctor  sees  the  good  in  every  one,  and  appreciates  it," 
said  the  master,  dogmatically ;  "  but  I  hope  East  will  get  a  good 
colonel.  He  won't  do  if  he  can't  respect  those  above  him. 
How  long  it  took  him  even  here  to  learn  the  lesson  of  obey- 
ing." 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  were  alongside  of  him,"  said  Tom.  "  If  I 
can't  be  at  Rugby,  I  want  to  be  at  work  in  the  world,  and  not 
dawdling  away  three  years  at  Oxford." 

"What  do  you  mean  by 'at  work  in  the  world'?"  said  the 
master,  pausing,  with  his  lips  close  to  his  saucerful  of  tea,  and 
peering  at  Tom  over  it. 

"  Well,  I  mean  real  work — one's  profession ;  whatever  one 
will  have  really  to  do,  and  make  one's  living  by.  I  want  to  be 
doing  some  real  good,  feeling  that  I  am  not  only  at  play  in 
the  world,"  answered  Tom,  rather  puzzled  to  find  out  himself 
what  he  really  did  mean. 

"  You  are  mixing  up  two  very  different  things  in  your  head, 
I  think,  Brown,"  said  the  master,  putting  down  the  empty  saucer, 
"  and  you  ought  to  get  clear  about  them.  You  talk  of  '  work- 
ing to  get  your  living '  and  '  doing  some  real  good  in  the  world ' 
in  the  same  breath.  Now,  you  may  be  getting  a  very  good  liv- 
ing in  a  profession  and  yet  doing  no  good  at  all  in  the  world, 
but  quite  the  contrary,  at  the  same  time.  Keep  the  latter  before 
you  as  your  one  object,  and  you  will  be  right,  whether  you 
make  a  living  or  not ;  but  if  you  dwell  on  the  other,  you'll 
very  likely  drop  into  mere  money-making,  and  let  the  world 


802  THOMAS  HUGHES,    M.P. 

take  care  of  itself  for  good  or  evil.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  about 
finding  your  work  in  the  world  for  yourself;  you  are  not  old 
enough  to  judge  for  yourself  yet,  but  just  look  about  you  in  the 
place  you  find  yourself  in,  and  try  to  make  things  a  little  bet- 
ter and  honester  there.  You'll  find  plenty  to  keep  your  hand 
in  at  Oxford,  or  wherever  else  you  go.  And  don't  be  led  away 
to  think  this  part  of  the  world  important  and  that  unimportant. 
Every  corner  of  the  world  is  important.  No  man  knows 
whether  this  part  or  that  is  most  so,  but  every  man  may  do 
some  honest  work  in  his  own  corner."  And  then  the  good  man 
went  on  to  talk  wisely  to  Tom  of  the  sort  of  work  which  he 
might  take  up  as  an  undergraduate,  warned  him  of  the  prev- 
alent university  sins,  and  explained  to  him  the  many  and 
great  differences  between  university  and  school  life,  till  the 
twilight  changed  into  darkness,  and  they  heard  the  truant  serv- 
ant stealing  in  by  the  back  entrance. 

"  I  wonder  where  Arthur  can  be,"  said  Tom  at  last,  looking 
at  his  watch ;  "  why,  it's  nearly  half-past  nine  already." 

"  Oh,  he  is  comfortably  at  supper  with  the  eleven,  forgetful 
of  his  oldest  friends,"  said  the  master.  "  Nothing  has  given  me 
greater  pleasure,"  he  went  on,  "than  your  friendship  for  him ; 
it  has  been  the  making  of  you  both." 

"  Of  me,  at  any  rate,"  answered  Tom ;  "  I  should  never  have 
been  here  now  but  for  him.  It  was  the  luckiest  chance  in  the 
world  that  sent  him  to  Rugby,  and  made  him  my  chum." 

"  Why  do  you  talk  of  lucky  chances  ?  "  said  the  master ;  "  I 
don't  know  that  there  are  any  such  things  in  the  world ;  at  any 
rate  there  was  neither  luck  nor  chance  in  that  matter." 

Tom  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  and  he  went  on.  "  Do  you 
remember  when  the  Doctor  lectured  you  and  East  at  the  end 
of  one  half-year,  when  you  were  in  the  shell,  and  had  been  get- 
ting into  all  sorts  of  scrapes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  well  enough,"  said  Tom  ;  "  it  was  the  half-year  before 
Arthur  came." 

"  Exactly  so,"  answered  the  master.  "  Now,  I  was  with  him 
a  few  minutes  afterwards,  and  he  was  in  great  distress  about 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  303 

you  two.  And,  after  some  talk,  we  both  agreed  that  you  in 
particular  wanted  some  object  in  the  school  beyond  games  and 
mischief;  for  it  was  quite  clear  that  you  never  would  make  the 
regular  school  work  your  first  object.  And  so  the  Doctor,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  next  half-year,  looked  out  the  best  of  the 
new  boys,  and  separated  you  and  East,  and  put  the  young  boy 
into  your  study,  in  the  hope  that  when  you  had  somebody  to 
lean  on  you,  you  would  begin  to  stand  a  little  steadier  yourself, 
and  get  manliness  and  thoughtfulness.  And  I  can  assure  you 
he  has  watched  the  experiment  ever  since  with  great  satisfac- 
tion. Ah  !  not  one  of  you  boys  will  ever  know  the  anxiety  you 
have  given  him,  or  the  care  with  which  he  has  watched  over 
every  step  in  your  school  lives." 

Up  to  this  time,  Tom  had  never  wholly  given  in  to  or  under- 
stood the  Doctor.  At  first  he  had  thoroughly  feared  him.  For 
some  years,  as  I  have  tried  to  show,  he  had  learned  to  regard 
him  with  love  and  respect,  and  to  think  him  a  very  great  and 
wise  and  good  man.  But,  as  regarded  his  own  position  in  the 
school,  of  which  he  was  no  little  proud,  Tom  had  no  idea  of 
giving  any  one  credit  for  it  but  himself,  and,  truth  to  tell,  was 
a  very  self-conceited  young  gentleman  on  the  subject.  He  was 
wont  to  boast  that  he  had  fought  his  own  way  fairly  up  the 
school,  and  had  never  made  up  to  or  been  taken  up  by  any  big 
fellow  or  master,  and  that  it  was  now  quite  a  different  place 
from  what  it  was  when  he  first  came.  And,  indeed,  though  he 
didn't  actually  boast  of  it,  in  his  secret  soul  he  did  to  a  great 
extent  believe  that  the  great  reform  of  the  school  had  been 
owing  quite  as  much  to  himself  as  to  any  one  else.  Arthur,  he 
acknowledged,  had  done  him  good,  and  taught  him  a  good 
deal,  so  had  other  boys  in  different  ways,  but  they  had  not  had 
the  same  means  of  influence  on  the  school  in  general ;  and  as 
for  the  Doctor,  why,  he  was  a  splendid  master,  but  every  one 
knew  that  masters  could  do  very  little  out  of  school  hours.  In 
short,  he  felt  on  terms  of  equality  with  his  chief,  so  far  as  the 
social  state  of  the  school  was  concerned,  and  thought  that  the 
Doctor  would  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  get  on  without  him. 


304  THOMAS  HUGHES,    Jf.P. 

Moreover,  his  school  toryism  was  still  strong,  and  he  looked 
still  with  some  jealousy  on  the  Doctor,  as  somewhat  of  a  fanatic 
in  the  matter  of  change,  and  thought  it  very  desirable  for  the 
school  that  he  should  have  some  wise  person  (such  as  himself) 
to  look  sharply  after  vested  school-rights,  and  see  that  nothing 
was  done  to  the  injury  of  the  republic  without  due  protest. 

It  was  a  new  light  to  him  to  find  that,  besides  teaching  the 
sixth,  and  governing  and  guiding  the  whole  school,  editing 
classics,  and  writing  histories,  the  great  head-master  had  found 
time  in  those  busy  years  to  watch  over  the  career  even  of  him, 
Tom  Brown,  and  his  particular  friends, — and,  no  doubt,  of  fifty 
other  boys  at  the  same  time;  and  all  this  without  taking  the 
least  credit  to  himself,  or  of  seeming  to  know,  or  let  any  one 
else  know,  that  he  ever  thought  particularly  of  any  boy  at  all. 

However,  the  Doctor's  victory  was  complete  from  that  mo- 
ment over  Tom  Brown  at  any  rate.  He  gave  way  at  all  points, 
and  the  enemy  marched  right  over  him,  cavalry,  infantry  and 
artillery,  the  land  transport  corps,  and  the  camp  followers.  It 
had  taken  eight  long  years  to  do  it,  but  now  it  was  done  thor- 
oughly, and  there  wasn't  a  corner  of  him  left  which  didn't  be- 
lieve in  the  Doctor.  Had  he  returned  to  school  again,  and  the 
Doctor  begun  the  half-year  by  abolishing  fagging  and  football 
and  the  Saturday  half-holiday,  or  all  or  any  of  the  most  cherished 
school  institutions,  Tom  would  have  supported  him  with  the 
blindest  faith.  And  so,  after  a  half  confession  of  his  previous 
shortcomings,  and  sorrowful  adieus  to  his  tutor,  from  whom  he 
received  two  beautifully-bound  volumes  of  the  Doctor's  ser- 
mons, as  a  parting  present,  he  marched  down  to  the  school- 
house,  a  hero-worshiper  who  would  have  satisfied  the  soul  of 
Thomas  Carlyle  himself. 

In  the  summer  of  1842,  our  hero  stopped  once  again  at  the 
well-known  station,  and  leaving  his  bag  and  fishing-rod  with  a 
porter,  walked  slowly  and  sadly  up  towards  the  town.  It  was 
now  July.  He  had  rushed  away  from  Oxford  the  moment  that 
term  was  over,  for  a  fishing  ramble  in  Scotland  with  two  college 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  305 

friends,  and  had  been  for  three  weeks  living  on  oat-cake,  mut- 
ton-hams and  whisky,  in  the  wildest  parts  of  Skye.  They  had 
descended  one  sultry  evening  on  the  little  inn  at  Kyle  Rhea 
ferry,  and  while  Tom  and  another  of  the  party  put  their  tackle 
together  and  began  exploring  the  stream  for  a  sea-trout  for 
supper,  the  third  strolled  into  the  house  to  arrange  for  their 
entertainment.  Presently  he  came  out  in  a  loose  blouse  and 
slippers,  a  short  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  an  old  newspaper  in 
his  hand,  and  threw  himself  on  the  heathery  scrub  which  met 
the  shingle,  within  easy  hail  of  the  fishermen.  There  he  lay, 
the  picture  of  free-and-easy,  loafing,  hand-to-mouth  young  Eng- 
land, "  improving  his  mind,"  as  he  shouted  to  them,  by  the 
perusal  of  the  fortnight-old  weekly  paper,  soiled  with  the  marks 
of  toddy-glasses  and  tobacco-ashes,  the  legacy  of  the  last  trav- 
eler, which  he  had  hunted  out  from  the  kitchen  of  the  little 
hostelry,  and  being  a  youth  of  a  communicative  turn  of  mind, 
began  imparting  the  contents  to  the  fishermen  as  he  went  on. 

"  What  a  bother  they  are  making  about  these  wretched  Corn- 
laws  ;  here's  three  or  four  columns  full  of  nothing  but  sliding- 
scales  and  fixed  duties.  Hang  this  tobacco,  it's  always  going 
out !  Ah,  here's  something  better — a  splendid  match  between 
Kent  and  England,  Brown !  Kent  winning  by  three  wickets. 
Felix  fifty-six  runs  without  a  chance,  and  not  out ! " 

Tom,  intent  on  a  fish  which  had  risen  at  him  twice,  answered 
only  with  a  grunt. 

"  Anything  about  the  Goodwood  ?  "  called  out  the  third  man. 

"  Rory  O'More  drawn.  Butterfly  colt  amiss,"  shouted  the 
student. 

"  Just  my  luck,"  grumbled  the  inquirer,  jerking  his  flies  off 
the  water,  and  throwing  again  with  a  heavy,  sullen  splash,  and 
frightening  Tom's  fish. 

"  I  say,  can't  you  throw  lighter  over  there  ?  we  ain't  fishing 
for  grampuses,"  shouted  Tom  across  the  stream. 

"  Hullo,  Brown !  here's  something  for  you,"  called  out  the 
reading  man  next  moment.     "  Why,  your  old  master,  Arnold 
of  Rugby,  is  dead." 
s.  M.— 20 


306  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

Tom's  hand  stopped  half  way  in  his  cast,  and  his  lines  and 
flies  went  all  tangling  round  and  round  his  rod ;  you  might 
have  knocked  him  over  with  a  feather.  Neither  of  his  com- 
panions took  any  notice  of  him,  luckily ;  and  with  a  violent 
effort  he  set  to  work  mechanically  to  disentangle  his  line.  He 
felt  completely  carried  off  his  moral  and  intellectual  legs,  as  if 
he  had  lost  his  standing  point  in  the  invisible  world.  Besides 
which,  the  deep  loving  loyalty  which  he  felt  for  his  old  leader 
made  the  shock  intensely  painful.  It  was  the  first  great  wrench 
of  his  life,  the  first  gap  which  the  angel  Death  had  made  in 
his  circle,  and  he  felt  numbed,  and  beaten  down,  and  spiritless. 
Well,  well !  I  believe  it  was  good  for  him,  and  for  many  others 
in  like  case,  who  had  to  learn  by  that  loss  that  the  soul  of  man 
cannot  stand  or  lean  upon  any  human  prop,  however  strong,  and 
wise,  and  good ;  but  that  He  upon  whom  alone  it  can  stand  and 
lean  will  knock  away  all  such  props  in  his  own  wise  and  merci- 
ful way,  until  there  is  no  ground  or  stay  left  but  Himself,  the 
Rock  of  Ages,  upon  whom  alone  a  sure  foundation  for  every 
soul  of  man  is  laid. 

As  he  wearily  labored  at  his  line,  the  thought  struck  him, 
"  It  may  all  be  false,  a  mere  newspaper  lie,"  and  he  strode  up 
to  the  recumbent  smoker. 

"  Let  me  look  at  the  paper,"  said  he. 

"  Nothing  else  in  it,"  answered  the  other,  handing  it  up  to 
him  listlessly. — "  Hullo,  Brown !  what's  the  matter,  old  fellow — 
ain't  you  well  ?  " 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  said  Tom,  turning  over  the  leaves,  his  hands 
trembling,  and  his  eyes  swimming,  so  that  he  could  not  read. 

"What?  What  are  you  looking  for? "  said  his  friend, jump- 
ing up  and  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

"  That— about  Arnold,"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  here,"  said  the  other,  putting  his  finger  on  the'  para- 
graph. Tom  read  it  over  and  over  again ;  there  could  be  no 
mistake  of  identity,  though  the  account  was  short  enough. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  at  last,  dropping  the  paper.  "  I  shall 
go  for  a  walk:  don't  you  and  Herbert  wait  supper  for  me." 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  307 

And  away  he  strode,  up  over  the  moor  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
to  be  alone,  and  master  his  grief  if  possible. 

His  friend  looked  after  him,  sympathizing  and  wondering, 
and  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  walked  over  to  Her- 
bert. After  a  short  parley,  they  walked  together  up  to  the 
house. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  confounded  newspaper  has  spoiled  Brown's 
fun  for  this  trip." 

"  How  odd  that  he  should  be  so  fond  of  his  old  master,"  said 
Herbert.  Yet  they  also  were  both  public-school  men. 

The  two,  however,  notwithstanding  Tom's  prohibition,  waited 
supper  for  him,  and  had  everything  ready  when  he  came  back 
some  half  an  hour  afterwards.  But  he  could  not  join  in  their 
cheerful  talk,  and  the  party  was  soon  silent,  notwithstanding 
the  efforts  of  all  three.  One  thing  only  had  Tom  resolved,  and 
that  was,  that  he  couldn't  stay  in  Scotland  any  longer ;  he  felt 
an  irresistible  longing  to  get  to  Rugby,  and  then  home,  and 
soon  broke  it  to  the  others,  who  had  too  much  tact  to  oppose. 

So  by  daylight  the  next  morning  he  was  marching  through 
Ross-shire,  and  in  the  evening  hit  the  Caledonian  canal,  took 
the  next  steamer,  and  traveled  as  fast  as  boat  and  railway  could 
carry  him  to  the  Rugby  station. 

As  he  walked  up  to  the  town,  he  felt  shy  and  afraid  of  being 
seen,  and  took  the  back  streets ;  why,  he  didn't  know,  but  he 
followed  his  instinct.  At  the  school-gates  he  made  a  dead 
pause ;  there  was  not  a  soul  in  the  quadrangle — all  was  lonely 
and  silent  and  sad.  So  with  another  effort  he  strode  through 
the  quadrangle,  and  into  the  schoolhouse  offices. 

He  found  the  little  matron  in  her  room  in  deep  mourning ; 
shook  her  hand,  tried  to  talk,  and  moved  nervously  about.  She 
was  evidently  thinking  of  the  same  subject  as  he,  but  he  couldn't 
begin  talking. 

"  Where  shall  I  find  Thomas  ?  "  said  he  at  last,  getting  des- 
perate. 

"  In  the  servants'  hall,  I  think,  sir.  But  won't  you  take  any- 
thing ?  "  said  the  matron,  looking  rather  disappointed. 


308  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  and  strode  off  again,  to  find  the 
old  verger,  who  was  sitting  in  his  little  den  as  of  old,  puzzling 
over  hieroglyphics. 

He  looked  up  through  his  spectacles,  as  Tom  seized  his  hand 
and  wrung  it. 

"  Ah !  you've  heard  all  about  it,  sir,  I  see,"  said  he. 

Tom  nodded,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  shoe-board,  while  the 
old  man  told  his  tale,  and  wiped  his  spectacles,  and  fairly  flowed 
over  with  quaint,  homely,  honest  sorrow. 

By  the  time  he  had  done,  Tom  felt  much  better. 

"  Where  is  he  buried,  Thomas  ?  "  said  he  at  last. 

"  Under  the  altar  in  the  chapel,  sir,"  answered  Thomas. 
"  You'd  like  to  have  the  key,  I  dare  say." 

"  Thank  you  Thomas. — Yes,  I  should  very  much."  And  the 
old  man  fumbled  among  his  bunch,  and  then  got  up,  as  though 
he  would  go  with  him,  but  after  a  few  steps,  stopped  short,  and 
said,  "  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  by  yourself,  sir  ?  " 

Tom  nodded,  and  the  bunch  of  keys  was  handed  to  him, 
with  an  injunction  to  be  sure  and  lock  the  door  after  him,  and 
bring  them  back  before  eight  o'clock. 

He  walked  quickly  through  the  quadrangle  and  out  into  the 
close.  The  longing  which  had  been  upon  him  and  driven  him 
thus  far,  like  the  gad-fly  in  the  Greek  legends,  giving  him  no 
rest  in  mind  or  body,  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  not  to  be  satisfied, 
but  to  shrivel  up,  and  pall.  "  Why  should  I  go  on  ?  It's  no 
use,"  he  thought,  and  threw  himself  at  full  length  on  the  turf, 
and  looked  vaguely  and  listlessly  at  all  the  well-known  objects. 
There  were  a  few  of  the  town  boys  playing  cricket,  their  wicket 
pitched  on  the  best  piece  in  the  middle  of  the  big-side  ground 
— a  sin  about  equal  to  a  sacrilege  in  the  eyes  of  the  captain  of 
the  eleven.  He  was  very  nearly  getting  up  to  go  and  send 
them  off.  "  Pshaw !  they  won't  remember  me.  They've  more 
right  there  than  I,"  he  muttered.  And  the  thought  that  his 
scepter  had  departed,  and  his  mark  was  wearing  out,  came 
home  to  him  for  the  first  time,  and  bitterly  enough.  He  was 
lying  on  the  very  spot  where  the  fights  came  off;  where  he  him- 


TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DATS  AT  RUGBY  309 

self  had  fought  six  years  ago  his  first  and  last  battle.  He  con- 
jured up  the  scene  till  he  could  almost  hear  the  shouts  of  the 
ring,  and  East's  whisper  in  his  ear ;  and  looking  across  the  close 
to  the  Doctor's  private  door,  half  expected  it  to  open,  and  the 
tall  figure  in  cap  and  gown  come  striding  under  the  elm  trees 
towards  him. 

No,  no !  that  sight  could  never  be  seen  again.  There  was  no 
flag  flying  on  the  round  tower ;  the  schoolhouse  windows  were 
all  shuttered  up ;  and  when  the  flag  went  up  again,  and  the 
shutters  came  down,  it  would  be  to  welcome  a  stranger.  All 
that  was  left  on  earth  of  him  whom  he  had  honored  was  lying 
cold  and  still  under  the  chapel  floor.  He  would  go  in  and  see 
the  place  once  more,  and  then  leave  it  once  for  all.  New  men 
and  new  methods  might  do  for  other  people ;  let  those  who 
would  worship  the  rising  star ;  he,  at  least,  would  be  faithful  to 
the  sun  which  had  set.  And  so  he  got  up,  and  walked  to  the 
chapel  door  and  unlocked  it,  fancying  himself  the  only  mourner 
in  all  the  broad  land,  and  feeding  on  his  own  selfish  sorrow. 

He  passed  through  the  vestibule,  and  then  paused  for  a 
moment  to  glance  over  the  empty  benches.  His  heart  was  still 
proud  and  high,  and  he  walked  up  to  the  seat  which  he  had 
last  occupied  as  a  sixth-form  boy,  and  sat  himself  down  there 
to  collect  his  thoughts. 

And,  truth  to  tell,  they  needed  collecting  and  setting  in  order 
not  a  little.  The  memories  of  eight  years  were  all  dancing 
through  his  brain,  and  carrying  him  about  whither  they  would, 
while  beneath  them  all  his  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  dull 
sense  of  a  loss  that  could  never  be  made  up  to  him.  The  rays 
of  the  evening  sun  came  solemnly  through  the  painted  windows 
above  his  head,  and  fell  in  gorgeous  colors  on  the  opposite  wall, 
and  the  perfect  stillness  soothed  his  spirit  little  by  little.  And 
he  turned  to  the  pulpit,  and  looked  at  it,  and  then,  leaning  for- 
ward with  his  head  on  his  hands,  groaned  aloud.  "  If  he  could 
only  have  seen  the  Doctor  again  for  one  five  minutes ;  have 
told  him  all  that  was  in  his  heart,  what  he  owed  to  him,  how 
he  loved  and  reverenced  him,  and  would,  by  God's  help,  follow 


310  THOMAS  HUGHES,   M.P. 

his  steps  in  life  and  death,  he  could  have  borne  it  all  without  a 
murmur.  But  that  he  should  have  gone  away  forever  without 
knowing  it  all,  was  too  much  to  bear." — "  But  am  I  sure  he 
does  not  know  it  all  ?  "  The  thought  made  him  start.  "  May 
he  not  even  now  be  near  me,  in  this  very  chapel?  If  he  be,  am 
I  sorrowing  as  he  would  have  me  sorrow — as  I  should  wish  to 
have  sorrowed  when  I  shall  meet  him  again  ?  " 

He  raised  himself  up  and  looked  round,  and  after  a  minute 
rose  and  walked  humbly  down  to  the  lowest  bench,  and  sat 
down  on  the  very  seat  which  he  had  occupied  on  his  first  Sun- 
day at  Rugby.  And  then  the  old  memories  rushed  back  again, 
but  softened  and  subdued,  and  soothing  him  as  he  let  himself 
be  carried  away  by  them.  And  he  looked  up  at  the  great 
painted  window  above  the  altar,  and  remembered  how,  when  a 
little  boy,  he  used  to  try  not  to  look  through  it  at  the  elm  trees 
and  the  rooks,  before  the  painted  glass  came,  and  the  subscrip- 
tion for  the  painted  glass,  and  the  letter  he  wrote  home  for 
money  to  give  to  it.  And  there,  down  below,  was  the  very 
name  of  the  boy  who  sat  on  his  right  hand  on  that  first  day, 
scratched  rudely  on  the  oak  paneling. 

And  then  came  the  thought  of  all  his  old  schoolfellows,  and 
form  after  form  of  boys,  nobler  and  braver  and  purer  than  he, 
rose  up  and  seemed  to  rebuke  him.  Could  he  not  think  of  them, 
and  what  they  had  felt  and  were  feeling,  they  who  had  honored 
and  loved  from  the  first  the  man  whom  he  had  taken  years  to 
know  and  love  ?  Could  he  not  think  of  those  yet  dearer  to  him 
who  was  gone,  who  bore  his  name  and  shared  his  blood,  and 
were  now  without  a  husband  or  a  father?  Then  the  grief 
which  he  began  to  share  with  others  became  gentle  and  holy, 
and  he  rose  up  once  more,  and  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  altar ; 
and  while  the  tears  flowed  freely  down  his  cheeks,  knelt  down 
humbly  and  hopefully,  to  lay  down  there  his  share  of  the  bur- 
den which  had  proved  itself  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear  in  his 
own  strength. 

Here  let  us  leave  him — where  better  could  we  leave  him, 
than  at  the  altar,  before  which  he  had  first  caught  a  glimpse 


I 

TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL-DAYS  AT  RUGBY  311 

of  the  glory  of  his  birthright,  and  felt  the  drawing  of  the  bond 
which  links  all  living  souls  together  in  one  brotherhood — at 
the  grave  beneath  the  altar  of  him  who  had  opened  his  eyes  to 
see  that  glory,  and  softened  his  heart  till  it  could  feel  that  bond? 
And  let  us  not  be  hard  on  him  if  at  that  moment  his  soul  is 
fuller  of  the  tomb,  and  him  who  lies  there,  than  of  the  altar 
and  Him  of  whom  it  speaks.  Such  stages  have  to  be  gone 
through,  I  believe,  by  all  young  and  brave  souls,  who  must 
win  their  way  through  hero-worship  to  the  worship  of  Him 
who  is  the  King  and  Lord  of  heroes.  For  it  is  only  through 
our  mysterious  human  relationships,  through  the  love  and  ten- 
derness and  purity  of  mothers,  and  sisters,  and  wives,  through 
the  strength,  and  courage,  and  wisdom  of  fathers,  and  brothers, 
and  teachers,  that  we  can  come  to  the  knowledge  of  Him  in 
whom  alone  the  love,  and  the  tenderness,  and  the  purity,  and 
the  strength,  and  the  courage,  and  the  wisdom  of  all  these  dwell 
forever  and  ever  in  perfect  fullness. 


DANIEL   PIERCE  THOMPSON 

1795-1868 

DANIEL  PIERCE  THOMPSON  was  born  at  the  foot  of  Bunker  Hill,  in 
Boston,  Mass.,  in  1795.  He  was  graduated  from  Middlebury  College  at 
the  age  of  twenty-five,  and  entered  upon  the  practice  of  law  at  Mont- 
pelier,  Vt.,  where  he  speedily  rose  to  eminence.  He  served  his  State 
as  clerk  of  the  legislature,  judge  of  probate,  county  clerk,  and  secre- 
tary of  state.  He  compiled  the  laws  of  Vermont,  contributed  to  the 
leading  periodicals  of  his  time,  and  wrote  a  number  of  books,  which 
proved  successful  ventures.  Among  these  were  "May  Martin,"  "The 
Green  Mountain  Boys,"  and  "  Locke  Amsden;  or,  the  Schoolmaster." 
Of  the  latter  work  nine  editions  have  been  published.  Judge  Thomp- 
son died  in  1868. 

Characterization 

"  Locke  Amsden,"  though  not  sufficiently  ambitious  to  receive  much 
attention  from  critical  reviews,  was  very  favorably  noticed  in  former 
years,  by  the  educational  and  secular  press,  and  was  more  fortunate 
than  many  contemporary  stories  somewhat  similar  in  plan,  since  it 
secured  a  sufficient  hold  upon  popular  interest  to  insure  its  perpetuation 
to  the  present  day.  This  it  owes  largely,  no  doubt,  to  the  subject-mat- 
ter of  the  book,  and  to  the  high  esteem  in  which  its  author  was  held  as 
an  eminent  citizen  of  spotless  fame.  Moreover,  the  style  of  the  com- 
position, while  not  exhibiting  a  high  order  of  genius,  is  yet  pleasing 
and  creditable,  and  the  book  is  one  that  is  read  with  real  profit,  espe- 
cially by  those  who  are  actively  connected  with  educational  interests. 

The  School  in  the  Horn  of  the  Moon 

(From  "Locke  Amsden  ;  or,  the  Schoolmaster") 

It  was  near  the  middle  of  the  dark  and  dreary  season  which 
characterizes  our  northern  clime.  Old  Winter  had  taken  his 
January  nap.  And  having  protracted  longer  than  usual  his 
cold,  sweaty  slumbers,  he  had  now,  as  if  to  make  amends  for 

312 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    313 

his  remissness,  aroused  himself  with  a  rage  and  fury  which 
seemed  to  show  his  determination  to  expel  the  last  vestige  of 
his  antagonistic  element,  heat,  that  had  thus  invaded  and  for  a 
while  disarmed  him,  forever  from  his  dominions.  The  whole 
season,  indeed,  to  drop  the  metaphorical  for  plain  language, 
had  been  one  of  uncommon  mildness.  A  warm  and  broken 
December  had  been  succeeded  by  a  still  warmer  and  more 
thawy  January.  And  so  little  had  people  been  made  aware  of 
the  presence  of  winter  thus  far,  that  their  doors  were  often  left 
open,  and  small  fires  only  were  either  used  or  required.  But 
the  cold  weather  now  set  in  with  intense  severity,  and  com- 
pelled all  to  keep  tightly  closed  doors  and  roaring  fires. 

The  schoolhouse,  which  we  have  been  for  some  time  making 
the  scene  of  action,  had  been  built  the  preceding  fall ;  and  the 
interior,  consequently,  had  been  freshly  plastered;  while  the 
woodwork  of  the  doors  and  windows,  already  tight  before  from 
its  newness,  had  been  swollen  by  the  recent  thawy  weather :  so 
that  the  whole  room,  by  this,  and  the  finishing  operation  of  the 
frost  in  closing  up  the  remaining  interstices,  had  been  made 
almost  wholly  impervious  to  the  admission  of  any  fresh  air 
from  without. 

From  this,  however,  no  evil  consequences,  owing  to  the 
mildness  of  the  season,  and  the  attendant  circumstances  we 
have  mentioned,  had  resulted  to  the  school.  But  scarcely 
a  week  had  elapsed,  after  the  change  of  weather  just  de- 
scribed, before  the  scholars,  though  apparently  much  enjoy- 
ing the  contrasted  comforts  of  their  tight,  stove-heated  room, 
while  the  cold,  savage  blasts  could  be  heard  raging  and  howl- 
ing without,  became  very  visibly  affected.  A  livid  paleness 
overspread  their  features;  while  their  every  appearance  and 
movement  indicated  great  and  increasing  languor  and  feeble- 
ness. The  general  health  of  the  school,  in  short,  including  that 
of  the  master,  seemed  to  be  rapidly  failing.  These  indications 
were  soon  followed  by  several  instances  of  so  great  illness  as  to 
confine  its  victims  to  their  homes,  and  even  to  their  beds. 
Among  the  latter  was  the  case  of  the  only  son  and  child  of  a 


314  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

poor  but  pious  and  intelligent  widow,  by  the  name  of  Marvin, 
which  excited  in  the  bosom  of  Locke  feelings  of  the  deepest  sor- 
row for  the  misfortune  of  the  boy,  and  sympathy  in  the  afflic- 
tion of  his  doting  parent.  And  it  was  not  without  reason  that 
both  teacher  and  parent  were  touched  with  peculiar  grief  on 
the  occasion ;  for  the  boy,  who  was  about  ten  years  old,  was  not 
only  kind  and  amiable  in  disposition,  but  a  very  excellent 
scholar.  And  now,  almost  for  the  first  time,  having  the  advan- 
tages of  good  instruction,  and  his  ambition  and  natural  love  of 
learning  having  been  kindled  into  enthusiasm  by  the  various 
incitements  held  out  to  him  by  his  instructor,  with  whom  he 
had  become  a  secret  favorite,  he  pursued  his  studies  with  an 
ardor  and  assiduity  which  knew  no  relaxation.  And  having 
made  surprising  progress  in  grammar,  during  the  few  weeks 
the  school  had  kept,  he  had  recently  solicited  and  obtained 
leave  to  commence  arithmetic,  to  which  he  was  giving  his 
whole  heart  and  soul,  when  he  was  thus  snatched  from  his 
engrossing  pursuit  by  the  hand  of  sickness. 

These  cases  of  sickness,  and  especially  the  more  serious  one 
of  the  good  and  studious  little  Henry,  the  boy  we  have  particu- 
larized, produced  much  sensation  in  the  neighborhood.  And 
the  cause,  not  only  of  these  instances  of  absolute  illness,  but  of 
the  altered  and  sickly  appearance  of  the  whole  school,  which 
now  excited  observation  and  uneasiness,  began  to  be  generally 
discussed.  As  no  epidemic  was  prevailing  in  the  country,  and 
as  all  other  schools  in  the  vicinity,  as  far  as  could  be  heard 
from,  were  even  unusually  healthy,  it  was  soon  concluded  that 
the  present  unhealthiness  must  be  occasioned  by  something 
wrong  about  the  schoolhouse,  or  in  the  manner  of  conducting 
the  school.  And  as  nothing  amiss  could  possibly  be  perceived 
in  the  schoolhouse,  which  all  pronounced  warm  and  comfort- 
able, it  was  settled  that  the  fault,  of  course,  must  be  looked  for 
in  the  master.  Some  averred  that  the  latter,  by  undue  severity, 
or  by  some  other  means,  had  broken  down  the  spirit  of  his 
scholars,  which  had  caused  them  to  become  melancholy,  droop- 
ing, and  sickly.  Others  said  that  he  had  made  the  scholars 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    315 

study  so  hard,  that  it  had  caused  their  health  to  give  way 
under  the  tasks  which  they  were  induced,  through  fear,  or 
some  mysterious  influence  he  had  obtained  over  their  minds,  to 
perform.  And  there  were  yet  others  who  carried  still  farther 
the  idea  thrown  out  by  those  last  named,  and  contended  that 
the  master  must  have  resorted  to  some  unlawful  art  or  power, 
which  he  had  exercised  upon  his  pupils,  not  only  to  subjugate 
them,  but  somehow  to  give  them  an  unnatural  .thirst  for  their 
studies,  and  as  unnatural  a  power  of  mastering  them.  In  proof 
of  this,  one  man  cited  the  instance  of  his  son,  who,  having 
become  half-crazed  on  his  arithmetic,  and  having  worked  all 
one  evening  on  a  sum  which  he  could  not  do,  went  to  bed, 
leaving  his  slate  upon  the  table,  but  rose  some  time  in  the 
night  in  his  sleep,  actually  worked  out  the  answer,  returned  to 
bed,  wholly  unconscious  of  what  he  had  done,  and  slept  till 
morning,  when  he  found,  to  his  surprise,  the  whole  process  in 
his  own  figures,  upon  the  slate.1 

This  incident,  however  little  it  might  have  had  to  do,  in 
the  minds  of  others,  in  proving  the  position  it  was  cited  to 
sustain,  seemed  to  go  far  with  these  people  in  confirming 
the  strange  notion  they  were  beginning  to  conceive,  that  the 
master  had  brought  some  unnatural  influence  to  bear  upon 
his  pupils.  And  when  they  compared  the  wild,  thoughtless, 
and  unstudious  conduct  which  had  ever  characterized  the 
scholars  before,  with  their  present  greatly  altered  behavior, 
and  the  eager  diligence  with  which  many  of  them,  both  day 
and  night,  pursued  their  studies,  particularly  mathematical 
studies,  they  mysteriously  shook  their  heads,  and  said,  "  they 
didn't  know  about  these  things ;  such  a  change  might  have 
come  in  a  natural  way,  but  they  couldn't  understand  it." 
It  was  agreed  on  all  hands,  they  further  argued,  that  the 
master  was  deep  in  figures.  Captain  Bunker,  who  was  con- 
sidered the  best  natural  reckoner  in  those  parts,  had  confessed 

1  This  incident,  improbable  as  it  may  appear  to  some,  is  a  true  one,  having 
occurred  within  the  knowledge  of  the  author,  who  otherwise  would  not  have 
ventured  in  relating  it. — D.  P.  Thompson. 


316  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

that  he  couldn't  hold  a  candle  to  him  in  that  respect.  They 
had  always  heard  that  strange  things  could  be  done  with 
figures,  if  a  person  sought  to  do  so.  Indeed,  there  was  a  cer- 
tain point  in  figures,  they  supposed,  beyond  which,  if  a  person 
persisted  in  going,  he  was  sure  to  have  help  from  one  who 
should  be  nameless,  but  who  always  exacted  his  pay  for  his 
assistance.  They  hoped  this  was  not  the  case  with  their  mas- 
ter ;  but  if  it  was,  and  he  was  trying  to  lead  his  scholars  into 
the  same  forbidden  paths,  it  was  no  wonder  that  they  had  such 
strange,  blue  looks ;  nor  was  it  at  all  surprising  that  sickness 
should  come  upon  them,  as  a  judgment.  And  they  again 
shook  their  heads  and  said  "  it  was  high  time  that  something 
should  be  done." 

Let  it  not  be  inferred,  that  we  would  convey  the  idea,  that 
the  people  of  the  country  in  which  our  scene  is  laid  were  gen- 
erally as  superstitious  as  some  of  the  circumstances  here  rep- 
resented to  have  taken  place  might  seem  to  imply.  They 
certainly  were  not  so.  And  comparatively  few  locations,  we 
presume,  could  have  been  found,  where  such  arguments  as 
we  have  put  into  the  mouths  of  some  of  the  good  people  of 
this  uncultured  district  would  have  been  listened  to  a  mo- 
ment. But  our  observations,  made  during  considerable  travel 
and  intercourse  among  the  common  classes  of  people  in  the 
Middle  and  Northern  States,  have  apprised  us  that  instances  of 
the  prevalence  of  notions  similar  to  those  just  mentioned  are 
still  to  be  found,  and  much  oftener,  too,  than  we  had  formerly 
supposed.  We  have  often  come  across  isolated  neighborhoods, 
even  in  the  heart  of  intelligent  communities,  where,  to  our  sur- 
prise, we  found  all  the  exploded  notions  of  witchcraft,  sorcery, 
divination,  and  the  like,  still  entertained;  and  to  an  extent, 
indeed,  that  led  us  almost  to  doubt  whether  we  had  not,  by 
some  miracle  or  other,  been  carried  back  a  century  and  a  half, 
and  set  down  among  a  clan  of  the  immediate  disciples  of  old 
Cotton  Mather,  who  spent  so  much  time  and  learning  in 
making  mystery  and  mischief  about  things  which  have  no 
existence,  except  in  imagination.  Such  a  neighborhood,  with 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    317 

a  few  honorable  exceptions,  we  are  constrained  to  say,  was  that 
of  the  Horn  of  the  Moon. 

On  the  day  following  that  during  which  the  singular  sur- 
mises and  discussions,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  were  started, 
two  more  members  of  the  school  were  taken  down ;  and  the 
situation  of  Henry  Marvin  had  become  so  alarming,  that  his 
agonized  mother,  some  time  in  the  preceding  night,  had  dis- 
patched a  man  for  a  physician  of  high  reputation,  residing  in  a 
large  village,  known  by  the  name  of  Cartersville,  nearly  thirty 
miles  distant;  though  she  was  compelled  to  pledge  her  only 
cow  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  man,  and  induce  him  to 
become  answerable  to  the  doctor  for  his  pay.  All  this,  as  may 
be  supposed,  much  increased  the  alarm  in  the  district,  and 
quickened  into  action  those  who  had  busied  themselves  in  get- 
ting up  an  excitement  against  the  master.  Meanwhile,  the 
innocent  victim  of  these  absurd  imputations  remained  at  his 
post,  wholly  ignorant  of  the  stir  that  wTas  going  on  about  him, 
and  thinking  only  of  the  misfortune  which  threatened  his 
school.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  last  mentioned  he  dis- 
missed his  school  early,  and  with  a  heavy  heart  repaired  to  the 
residence  of  the  distressed  widow,  to  visit  his  sick  little  favorite. 
On  reaching  the  house,  he  entered  the  room  ordinarily  occupied 
by  the  family ;  when  he  was  introduced,  by  a  woman  in  attend- 
ance, to  Dr.  Lincoln,  the  physician  before  named,  who,  having 
arrived  a  short  time  before,  was  now  taking  some  refreshment. 

"  Our  little  patient  here  is  a  pupil  of  yours,  sir  ?  "  inquiringly 
said  the  doctor,  who  was  a  small,  unostentatious,  but  a  highly 
intellectual  man. 

"  He  is,"  replied  Locke ;  "  and  I  can  hardly  express  how 
much  anxiety  I  feel  for  his  situation,  which  I  fear  you  will  pro- 
nounce dangerous." 

"  Your  apprehensions,  I  regret  to  say,  are  but  too  well 
grounded,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  consider  the  true  character  of  his  disease?" 

"  Whatever  it  may  have  been  at  first,  it  is  now  a  brain  fever, 
threatening  congestion." 


318  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

11  Are  you  prepared  to  assign  any  particular  cause  ?  " 

"  Of  his  first  attack,  I  am  not.  In  regard  to  the  form  the 
disease  has  now  assumed,  I  may  be  better  prepared,  perhaps,  to 
give  an  opinion  after  asking  you  a  few  questions.  What  are 
the  boy's  habits  of  study  and  scholarship  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  bright  scholar — uncommonly  so — very  industrious 
and  anxious  to  learn." 

"  I  suspected  so.  And  you  have  held  up  to  him  what  to 
others,  perhaps,  would  scarcely  be  an  inducement  sufficient  to 
move  them,  but  what,  to  his  sensitive  mind,  has  incited  him  to 
unwonted  exertions?" 

"  As  you  say,  sir,  I  may  have  said  that  which  had  the  effect 
to  incite  him ;  although  I  am  sure  I  have  used  more  exertions 
with  many  others." 

"  I  presume  so.  It  does  not  require  a  timber  chain  to  draw  a 
miser  to  a  supposed  bed  of  gold.  A  bare  glimpse  of  the  loved 
treasure  is  enough  to  kindle  his  whole  soul  for  the  eager  grasp. 
So  with  the  youthful  intellect,  if  bright,  and  united  with  a 
strong  love  of  learning.  And  let  me  caution  you,  my  dear  sir, 
how  you  spur  on  such  a  mind,  in  one  of  tender  years.  The1 
body  must  be  permitted  to  grow,  as  well  as  the  mind.  Very 
bright  children  are  said  always  to  die  first,  and  though  the 
cause  generally  assigned  for  this  may  be  false,  there  is  yet 
much  truth  in  the  saying;  the  true  cause  of  the  fact  being, 
that  the  minds  of  such  children,  by  the  injudiciously  applied 
incitements  of  parents  and  teachers,  are  often  so  over-wrought, 
that  disease,  at  every  slight  attack  on  other  parts  of  the  system, 
is  prone  to  fly  to  the  enfeebled  brain,  and,  oftener  than  other- 
wise, destroy  its  victim.  In  these  remarks  you  will  read  the 
opinion  to  which  I  incline  respecting  the  present  case." 

"Ay;  but  are  you  aware  that  several  others  of  my  school  have 
been  taken  ill,  and  those,  too,  that  would  be  the  last  to  whom  you 
would  think  of  imputing  injury  from  undue  mental  exertion  ?  " 

"  I  have  so  understood,  sir.  There  may  have  been  some  local 
cause  for  these,  as  well  as  the  first  attack  of  the  poor  little  fellow 
here.  Has  any  such  cause  suggested  itself  to  your  mind  ?  " 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    319 

"  No !  unless  it  be  the  late  sudden  and  great  change  in  the 
weather." 

"  That  will  hardly  account  for  the  manner  in  which  your 
school,  almost  the  whole  of  it,  in  some  degree,  as  I  understand, 
has  been  affected,  in  a  time  of  such  general  health.  There 
must  be  other  causes,  which  I  feel  some  curiosity  to  ascertain 
before  I  return." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
woman  of  the  neighborhood,  one  of  that  valuable  class  of  soci- 
ety who  retail  news,  with  comments. 

"  Do  you  attend  the  school-meeting  to  night,  Mr.  Amsden  ?  " 
she  soon  asked  ;  for  she  did  not  appear  very  bashful  in  claim- 
ing her  right  to  a  share  in  the  conversation. 

"  School  meeting,  madam  !  "  said  Locke,  in  surprise ;  "  I  was 
not  aware  that  there  was  to  be  one." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  ;  why,  everybody  is  going,  they  say.  I  sup- 
posed you,  of  course,  knew  it." 

"  This  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it.  But  what  is  the  object 
of  the  meeting  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  see  what's  to  be  done  about  the  scholars  being  in  this 
sickly  and  malagantly  way  to  be  sure.  Some  say  the  school 
won't  keep  any  more  at  any  rate.  But  I  tell  'em,  like  enough 
the  master  will  clear  it  up,  after  all's  said  and  done." 

"  Clear  up  what,  pray,  madam  ?  Of  what  can  I  possibly  be 
accused,  in  connection  with  this  misfortune  to  my  school  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  now — I  let  it  pass  into  one  ear  and  out  the 
other,  what  I  hear ;  because  I  never  mean  to  be  one  of  those 
who  go  about  telling  things  to  breed  mischief  and  ill-will 
among  people."  And  here  the  good  and  scrupulous  lady 
struck  off  in  a  tangent,  and  asked  the  doctor,  now  while  she 
thought  of  it,  as  she  said,  seeing  she  had  heard  a  great  many 
disputes  about  it,  "  whether  saffron  or  camomile  tea  was,  upon 
the  whole,  the  best  for  the  measles? " 

As  soon  as  the  doctor,  who  was  a  man  of  much  sly  but 
caustic  humor,  had  gravely  delivered  himself  of  a  very  learned 
answer,  which,  he  said,  upon  the  whole,  all  things  carefully  con- 


320  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

sidered,  he  must  conclude  in  the  language  of  the  great  Dr. 
Pope, — 

"  For  forms  of  diet  drinks  let  fools  contest  ; 
That  which  is  best  administered  is  best " — 

as  soon  as  he  had  done  this,  Locke,  whose  mind  was  still  run- 
ning upon  the  inexplicable  news  he  had  just  heard  from  the 
woman,  again  turned  to  her,  and  asked  if  she  knew  whether 
Mr.  Bunker  had  returned  from  the  journey  on  which  he  had 
been  for  the  last  fortnight  absent. 

"  Why,  we  don't  certainly  know  yet,"  replied  the  newsmon- 
gress ;  "  but  we  kinder  'spect  he  got  home  this  very  afternoon. 
Jim  Walker,  who  was  to  our  house  about  a  nour  ago,  to  bor- 
row a  sassage-filler  for  his  wife,  said  he  thought  he  saw,  from 
his  house,  a  creter  over  there,  that  looked  like  the  captain's  old 
black  hoss,  going  to  water,  and  rolling  in  the  snow,  as  if  he'd 
jest  been  onharnessed  after  a  journey." 

"  Well,  I  am  thankful  for  that,  if  he  has  indeed  arrived," 
replied  Locke,  who  felt  anxious  for  the  presence  of  his  friend 
at  the  approaching  meeting. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Amsden,"  said  the  doctor,  rising,  "  you  will  of 
course  attend  the  school-meeting ;  and  I  will  go  with  you,  if  I 
can  be  spared ;  but  we  will  now  walk  into  the  sick-room,  if  you 
please.  We  cannot  admit  much  company,"  he  continued,  as 
he  saw  the  gossip  turn  a  longing  eye  upon  the  opening  door, 
as  if  waiting  for  an  invitation  to  accompany,  them  ;  "but  Mr. 
Amsden  is  the  boy's  teacher,  whose  presence  may  be  a  benefit, 
by  recalling  his  wandering  mind." 

When  they  entered  the  sick-chamber,  a  scene  of  silent  but 
touching  woe  presented  itself.  The  grief-stricken  mother,  who 
scarcely  heeded  their  approach,  sat  bending  over  the  pillowed 
couch,  intently  gazing,  with  fixed,  glazed,  and  watery  eyes, 
N  upon  the  face  of  the  little  sufferer,  as  he  lay  nervously  moving 
his  restless  limbs,  and  rolling  his  swathed  head,  in  the  deep 
and  troubled  slumbers  which  exhausted  nature  seemed  to 
be  strongly  claiming  on  the  one  hand,  and  grappling  disease 


THE  SCHOOL   IN  THE  HORN   OF   THE  MOON          321 

fiercely  disputing  and  constantly  disturbing  on  the  other.  The 
doctor  took  the  patient's  hand,  and  attentively  examined  his 
pulse  ;  when  some  movement,  in  restoring  the  limb  to  its  place, 
awoke  him.  As  his  dim  and  slowly  wandering  eyes  fell  upon 
the  face  of  his  beloved  teacher,  a  single  glance  of  intelligence 
slightly  illumined  them ;  and  the  semblance  of  an  affectionate 
smile  played  faintly,  an  instant,  over  his  sunken  and  livid 
features,  vanishing  away  like  some  struggling  sunbeam  that 
has  partially  burst  through  a  stormy  cloud. 

The  mother  saw  the  glance,  with  the  recognition  it  evinced. 
And  the  association,  as  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  happy  days 
of  her  darling  boy's  health  and  friendly  intercourse  with  his 
teacher,  of  which  that  look  had  so  plainly  spoken,  and  reverted 
to  what  he  now  was,  and  probably  soon  would  be, — the  associa- 
tion thus  called  up  was  too  much  for  her  bursting  heart.  She 
groaned  aloud  from  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  troubled  spirit. 
Her  whole  frame  became  deeply  agitated,  and  her  bosom  shook 
with  the  convulsive  throes  of  her  agony,  as  with  indistinct, 
quick,  whispered  ejaculations,  she  seemed  eagerly  snatching  for 
the  hand  of  mercy  from  above  to  save  her  from  sinking  under 
the  insupportable  weight  of  her  own  feelings.  Her  prayers 
were  so  far  answered  as  to  bring  her  the  temporary  relief  of 
tears,  which  now  gushed  and  fell  like  rain  from  their  opening 
fountains  of  bitterness. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that,"  observed  Lincoln,  brushing  away  a 
tear  that  had  started  out  upon  his  knitting  brows.  "  It  will 
relieve  you,  madam.  And  now  let  me  persuade  you  to  go  out, 
bathe  your  face,  and  otherwise  refresh  yourself.  We  will  remain, 
and  take  care  of  your  son." 

"  Our  profession,"  resumed  the  doctor,  after  the  widow  had 
retired,  as  she  did,  in  silence,  on  the  suggestion  just  made  to 
her,  "our  profession,  Mr.  Amsden,  is  one  which  brings  along 
with  it  many  pains,  but  which,  at  the  same  time,  is  not  without 
its  gratifications.  A  case  now,  like  this,  an  almost  hopelessly 
sick  child,  with  a  distracted  parent  hanging  over  it — and  we 
are  daily  pained  with  witnessing  such  scenes — draws  hard, 

»,  M.— ttl 


322  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

hard,  I  confess,  upon  my  sympathies.  But  again,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  this  boy  should  recover  through  my  means,  I  shall  lay 
up  in  the  bosom  of  that  mother,  whether  I  deserve  it  or  not,  a 
store  of  gratitude  which  will,  perhaps,  often  find  utterance  in 
blessings  at  the  bare  mention  of  my  name  !  Yes,  if  he  recover," 
continued  the  speaker,  musingly,  as  he  rose  at  some  new  ap- 
pearance he  noticed  in  the  patient,  and  went  to  the  bedside,  ''  if 
he  recover — and  all  that  I  can  do  shall  be  done,  and  that  too 
with  no  charge  to  the  poor  woman,  even  if  I  knew  I  had  got  to 
beg  my  next  meal.  But  it  is  a  fierce  and  unmanageable  dis- 
ease, and  I  tremble  for  the  crisis  of  this  night.  Here,  step  here, 
Mr.  Amsden,  and  listen  to  the  confused  mutterings  of  broker 
thoughts  and  images  that  are  whirling  in  the  chaos  of  that  per- 
plexed  and  laboring  brain." 

Locke  immediately  complied  with  the  request ;  and  as  he 
turned  his  ear  towards  the  rapidly-moving  lips  of  the  delirious 
boy,  he  could  soon  distinguish  "  six  times  six  are  thirty-six — 
seven  times  six  are  forty-two — eight  times  six  are  forty-eight"  and 
so  on.  Sometimes  he  would  follow  one  figure  in  this  manner 
through  all  its  successive  multipliers,  in  the  usual  table,  and 
then  take  up  another,  follow  it  awhile,  and  suddenly  drop  it  for 
a  third,  which  in  turn,  perhaps,  would  be  relinquished  for  some 
attempted  process  in  subtraction  or  division  ;  in  all  of  which 
he  seemed  to  be  constantly  meeting  with  troubles  and  perplex- 
ities, with  which  he  would  appear  to  contend  awhile,  and  then 
return  to  his  old  starting  point  in  the  multiplication  table,  and 
with  freshened  impulse  hurry  on  with  "  six  times  six  are  thirty- 
six — seven  times  six  are  forty-two,"  etc.,  etc.,  till  something  again 
occurred  to  turn  his  bewildered  mind  from  the  course  it  was 
mechanically  pursuing. 

"  Poor,  poor  boy ! "  exclaimed  Locke,  as,  with  a  sigh  and 
starting  tear,  he  turned  away  from  the  affecting  spectacle. 

The  time  having  arrived  for  our  hero's  departure  for  the 
school-meeting,  and  the  widow  now  coming  in,  the  doctor  ap- 
prised her  of  his  intention  of  accompanying  the  former,  and, 
giving  his  directions  for  the  next  hour,  requested  her  to  send 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    323 

for  him  should  any  considerable  change  occur  in  the  patient, 
when  they  both  set  off  together  for  the  schoolhouse. 

On  reaching  the  place  of  destination,  they  found,  with  the 
exception  of  Bunker  and  one  or  two  others,  all  the  men,  to- 
gether with  several  of  the  older  scholars  of  the  district,  already 
assembled,  and  on  the  point  of  proceeding  to  business.  As 
soon  as  Locke  had  helped  his  friend,  the  doctor,  to  a  seat,  and 
taken  one  near  by  for  himself,  he  cast  a  leisurely  look  round 
the  assembly.  It  required  neither  much  time  nor  closeness  of 
observation  to  apprise  him  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  sup- 
pressed, excited  feeling  prevailing  generally  among  the  com- 
pany. Nor  was  he  much  longer  in  satisfying  himself,  from  the 
words  which  occasionally  reached  his  ears,  from  little  knots  of 
eager  whispers  around  him,  and  from  the  many  cold  and  sus- 
picious glances  he  encountered,  that  a  great  portion  of  this  feel- 
ing was  unfavorably  directed  against  himself,  the  cause  of  which 
he  was  still  unable  to  conjecture. 

"I  motion  Deacon  Gilchrist  be  Moderator  of  this  meeting," 
said  one,  bobbing  half-way  up,  and  hastily  squatting  back  to 
his  seat,  before  the  sentence  was  fairly  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  but  they  will  need  a  moderator  before  they 
get  through,"  whispered  the  doctor  to  Locke,  emphasizing  the 
word  so  as  to  give  it  a  literal  signification. 

The  vote  having  been  taken,  and  the  chairman,  a  short,  slug- 
gish man,  whose  wisdom  and  sanctity  lay  principally  in  his 
face,  being  duly  installed  in  his  seat,  he  pronounced  the  meet- 
ing open,  and  invited  those  present  "  to  offer." 

"  I  motion,"  again  said  the  person  who  had  first  spoken,  "  I 
motion,  Mr.  Moderator,  that  this  school  come  to  an  eend.  And 
I've  got  my  reasons  for't." 

The  motion  was  eagerly  seconded  by  two  or  three  others,  all 
speaking  at  once,  and  demanding  the  question,  in  a  manner 
that  plainly  showed  that  a  considerable  portion  of  those  pre>  ent 
were  acting  in  concert,  and  with  the  intention  of  having  the 
vote  taken  before  any  debate  could  be  had  on  the  subject.  And 
the  chairman,  who  was  evidently  a  secret  favorer  of  the  project, 


324  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

jumped  up  to  put  the  question;  when  Locke,  who  had  wit- 
nessed the  movement  with  the  utmost  surprise,  rose  and  de- 
manded the  reasons  which  the  mover  asserted  he  had  for  his 
proposed  measure. 

"  I  call  for  the  vote — put  it  to  vote ! "  was  the  only  reply  which 
Locke  received  to  his  reasonable  demand. 

"  Look  here  now,  Mr.  Moderator,"  cried  a  tall,  rough-looking 
young  fellow,  who  rose  in  a  different  part  of  the  room  from  that 
occupied  by  the  combined  party,  "  I  have  neither  chick  or  child 
to  send  to  school,  to  be  sure ;  but  I'm  a  voter  here,  and  I  must 
say  I  think  you  are  for  pushing  the  master  rather  hard,  to  vote 
him  out  without  giving  him  your  reasons,  so  as  to  allow  him 
a  chance  to  clear  it  up,  if  he  can.  And  as  to  any  blame  for 
the  sickness  resting  on  him,  I  ain't  so  sure  but  what  he  can ; 
for  I  can't  say  I  think  much  of  this  black  art  business,  or  of  its 
having  anything  to  do  in  bringing  on  the  trouble.  I  wouldn't 
give  much  for  all  the  help  the  master  or  anybody  else  ever  got 
that  way.  Now  you  may  think  as  you're  a  mind  to ;  but  I 
never  thought  the  old  boy  was  half  so  much  of  a  critter  as  he's 
cracked  up  to  be.  And  I  don't  believe  he's  any  great  scratch 
at  cipherin  himself  neither,  much  less  to  teach  it  to  others." 

The  sensibilities  of  the  good  deacon  received  a  very  visible 
shock  from  this  strange  and  irreverent  speech,  as  it  was  deemed ; 
and  his  zealous  supporter,  whom  we  have  mentioned  as  taking 
the  lead  in  motions  thus  far  made,  was  so  much  outraged  in 
his  feelings,  either  by  the  sentiments  of  the  speaker,  or  the 
opposition  they  implied  to  his  plans,  that  he  rose,  and  said  .he 
thought  the  young  man  ought  to  be  rebuked  for  such  loose 
discourse,  in  a  meeting  like  this,  where  folks  had  so  much  rea- 
son to  be  solemn.  "  I  wonder  if  he  believes,"  continued  the 
zealot,  warming  up,  "  what  the  scripture  says  about  the  power 
of  sorcerers'  getting  unlawful  help  to  do  what  other  folks 
cou'dn't  do?  And  I  should  like  to  ask  him  where  he  thinks 
the  help  come  from,  when  young  John  Mugridge,  that  the  mas- 
ter had  got  along  so  unnatural  fast  in  figures,  did  a  hard  sum 
in  his  sleep.  I  want  to  know,  too,  what  he  thinks  about  widow 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OP  THE  MOON    325 

Marvin's  boy  being  taken  sick — in  mercy,  perhaps — the  very 
next  week  after  the  master  put  him  to  ciphering.  And  then  I 
wish  he'd  tell  us  what  makes  the  whole  school  look  so  blue  and 
ghastly,  if  there  ain't  anything  wrong  in  the  master's  doings. 
And  I  call  on  the  master  himself  to  say  whether  he  can  deny 
that  he  understands  the  black  art." 

Locke  could  hardly  bring  himself  to  reply  to  this  ridiculous 
charge,  or  even  to  answer  the  particular  question  that  he  had 
been  thus  publicly  called  on  to  answer.  He  did  so,  however, 
by  briefly  stating  that  he  knew  of  no  such  art.  He  had  heard, 
indeed,  that  the  faculty  of  foretelling  events,  fortunes,  and  the 
like,  was  supposed  to  be  attainable  by  figures.  And  he  recol- 
lected, as  he  commenced  arithmetic  when  a  mere  boy,  indulg- 
ing a  sort  of  vague  expectation  that  he  should  come  across  this 
art,  if  he  went  far  enough.  But  the  further  he  advanced,  the 
more  did  he  see  the  impossibility  of  acquiring  any  such  faculty 
by  the  use  of  figures,  which,  more  peculiarly  than  any  other 
science,  discarded  all  suppositions,  and  had  to  do  only  with 
certain  demonstrable  facts.  And  now,  having  studied  or  ex- 
amined, as  he  believed,  nearly  all  of  that  science  that  had  been 
published,  he  was  fully  prepared  to  say  that  the  belief  in  the 
faculty  in  question  was  wholly  a  delusion. 

"  I  don't  blame  him  for  denying  it,"  said  the  superstitious 
spokesman  before  named.  "  I  think  I  should,  if  I  was  wicked 
enough  to  tamper  with  sich  forbidden  things.  But  I  should 
like  to  hear  Deacon  Gilchrist  the  Moderator's  views  on  this 
subject." 

The  Moderator,  after  sundry  hems  and  haws,  by  way  of  get- 
ting his  apparatus  of  speech  in  motion,  assumed  a  look  of  wise 
solemnity,  and  observed  : 

"  It  appears  to  me,  my  beloved  friends,  that  there's  an  awful 
responsibility  on  us.  Duty  is  duty.  I  do  think  so.  I  don't 
know,  nor  want  to,  much  about  the  hidden  things  of  figures, 
except  they  are  thought  to  be  the  instruments  that  Satan  works 
by  sometimes.  We  know  there  were  sorcerers  and  workers  in 
hidden  mysteries,  in  the  days  of  the  apostles ;  and  the  scripter 


326  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

says  they  shall  be  multiplied  in  the  latter  days,  which  now  is. 
I  once  read  a  book  by  a  great  and  deep  divine — I've  eeny  most 
forgot  his  name,  but  I  think  it  was  Woollen  Marther,  or  some 
sich  oncommon  crissen  name — who  had  seen,  with  his  own 
eyes,  a  great  deal  of  the  awful  doings  of  Satan.  And  he  speaks 
of  the  strange  looks  of  those  that  were  buffeted  by  the  adver- 
sary, and  the  divers  maladies  and  sore  evils  that  befell  those  who 
were  led  by  his  emissaries  into  unlawful  ways.  And  I  do  think, 
my  friends,  there's  something  very  mysterious  in  this  'ere 
school.  I  do  think  we  have  seen  a  token  of  displeasure,  that 
seems  to  say  to  us,  in  a  loud  voice — yea,  the  voice  of  many 
thunders — Come  out,  and  be  separate  from  him  that  bringeth  the  evil 
upon  you." 

This  speech  was  triumphantly  echoed  by  several  of  the  dea- 
con's supporters,  as  an  unanswerable  argument  for  the  measure 
they  were  so  intent  on  carrying.  There  were  others,  however, 
who  were  so  obtuse  as  not  to  perceive  the  force  of  the  argument, 
or  the  justice  of  its  application.  Among  these  were  the  in- 
tended victim  of  this  combination,  and  his  newly-found  friend, 
the  tall  fellow,  whose  speech  had  so  scandalized  his  opponents; 
both  of  whom  made  a  reply  to  the  oracular  speech  of  our  mod- 
ern Solomon — the  one  by  denying  both  premises  and  conclu- 
sions, and  the  other  by  drolly  asking  pardon  of  the  old  boy, 
the  deacon,  or  any  of  their  friends,  if  he  had  underrated  or 
offended  them  in  his  former  speech,  and  by  contending  that  the 
master  had  cleared  himself,  to  his  mind,  of  the  charge  of  cipher- 
ing his  scholars  into  fevers,  and  their  parents  into  fidgets. 
These  replies  led  to  a  good  deal  of  scattering  debate,  in  which 
nearly  all,  by  speech,  word  thrown  in,  or  other  manifestation, 
participated ;  and  by  which  it  became  apparent  that  there  were 
strictly  three  parties  in  the  assembly :  first,  the  deacon's  trained 
followers,  who,  numbering  about  one  third  of  the  district,  were 
for  breaking  up  the  school,  for  reasons  before  given ;  second, 
another  portion,  of  about  the  same  number,  who  had  been 
induced  to  come  into  the  plan  of  the  former,  through  their 
secret  fears  that  some  contagious  disease  was  about  to  break  out 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF   THE  MOON         327 

X 

in  the  school,  which  their  children  would  be  more  likely  to 
take  if  the  school  continued;  and  last,  the  other  third,  who 
believed  the  master  in  no  way  chargeable  for  the  condition  of 
the  school,  which  they  wished  might  be  still  continued. 

The  deacon's  party,  perceiving,  by  this  time,  that  they  could 
safely  count  on  strength  enough  to  carry  their  measure,  clam- 
ored more  loudly  than  •  ever  for  a  decision  of  the  question. 
Locke  gave  himself  up  as  lost,  and  a  few  minutes  more  would, 
indeed,  have  been  decisive  of  his  doom,  but  for  the  unexpected 
arrival  of  a  new  personage.  This  was  Bunker,  who  having 
reached  home  only  a  few  hours  before,  had  not  heard  what  was 
in  train  till  the  evening  was  considerably  advanced;  when, 
accidentally  learning  something  of  the  facts,  he  came  post  haste 
to  the  scene  of  action.  This  arrival  very  visibly  disconcerted 
the  deacon's  party,  and  produced  a  dead  pause  in  their  pro- 
ceedings, during  which  the  former  marched  boldly  up  to  Locke, 
and  gave  him  one  of  those  hearty  and  cordial  shakes  of  the 
hand,  which  send  assurance  to  the  desponding  heart,  and  are 
more  gratefully  felt,  on  some  emergencies,  than  a  thousand 
expressed  pledges  of  friendship,  on  others.  After  being  intro- 
duced to  Dr.  Lincoln,  Bunker,  taking  a  conspicuous  stand  before 
the  company,  immediately  demanded  the  object  of  the  meeting, 
and,  by  a  series  of  sharp  and  rapid  questions,  addressed  first  to 
one,  then  another,  soon  succeeded  in  drawing  out  the  whole 
truth,  with  all  that  had  transpired. 

"  0  ye  miserable  thinkers !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he  had 
satisfied  himself  of  the  true  situation  of  affairs,  "  what,  in  the 
name  of  common  sense,  could  have  put  ye  up  to  such  non- 
sense and  folly  as  this  ?  Three  decent  efforts  for  a  correct  idea 
should  have  told  you  that  the-  master  would  not  be  caught 
teaching,  for  nothing,  so  valuable  a  secret  as  the  black  art,  if 
that  art  is  all  you  suppose  it  to  be.  Why,  by  foretelling  the  rise 
in  the  markets,  or  the  lucky  number  of  the  ticket  that  is  to  draw 
the  highest  prize  in  the  next  lottery,  he  can  make  an  indepen- 
dent fortune  in  six  months,  if  he  will  keep  his  secret  to  him- 
self; but  if  he  goes  and  imparts  this  faculty  to  others,  they  will 


328  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

get  away  all  his  chances  for  such  luck,  and  his  art  won't  be 
worth  a  farthing  to  him.  Do  you  believe  he  would  do  such  a 
foolish  thing?  No !  not  a  soul  of  you.  There  is  thought  num- 
ber one  for  you. 

"  Again — what  could  make  you  think  that  the  teaching  of 
this  art  ever  did,  or  could,  bring  ill-health,  either  upon  the 
teacher  or  the  taught?  This  was  never  a  fact.  Is  there  any- 
thing said  in  the  Bible  about  the  magicians,  witches,  or  diviners, 
or  their  followers,  being  taken  sickly  for  their  practices  ?  Did 
Simon  Magus  make  anybody  sick  ?  Did  the  sorceress,  or  black- 
art  girl,  that  St.  Paul  converted,  carry  disease  in  her  train?  No; 
for  she  had  brought  her  master  a  good  deal  of  money  by  tell- 
ing folk's  fortunes;  when,  if  she  had  brought  sickness  and  judg- 
ments upon  them,  they  would  have  given  him  more  money  to 
have  kept  her  away. 

"  Nor  was  there  any  such  misfortunes  connected  with  the 
witchcraft  in  the  old  Bay  State.  Doctor  Mather,  even  in  his 
book,  don't  say  so ;  for  I  have  heard  it  read.  The  bewitched, 
according  to  his  story,  only  acted  and  appeared  a  little  wild 
and  devilish.  But,  if  his  book  had  said  this,  it  would  amount 
to  nothing ;  for  I  don't  believe,  if  the  old  Nick  himself  should 
turn  book-maker  to-day,  and  sit  down,  with  his  old  yellow, 
brimstone-tempered  steel  pen,  and  do  his  best,  for  a  month, 
he  could  get  more  of  the  real  essence  of  falsehood  between  the 
two  lids  of  a  book,  than  can  be  found  in  the  book  I've  men- 
tioned. And  if  ever  that  learned  doctor — for  he  was  accounted 
pious — gets  within  the  walls  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  he  will 
find,  I  fear,  when  he  comes  to  see  what  suffering,  death,  and 
crime  were  brought  about  through  his  influence  and  example, 
as  well  as  he  might  mean,  that  heaven  will  be  rather  an  un- 
easy place  for  him.  But,  supposing  the  judgments  of  sickness, 
and  so  on,  did  attend  such  doings,  what  then  ?  How  would  it 
stand  in  the  present  case  ?  Why,  jthe  master,  by  the  very  art 
that  was  to  produce  the  misfortune,  would  know  that  the  mis- 
fortune would  follow  his  attempt  to  teach  it.  And  do  you  think 
he  would  try  it,  when  he  knew  it  would  bring  sickness  and 


329 

trouble  on  his  school,  that  must  break  it  up,  cost  him  the  loss 
of  all  his  wages,  and,  what  is  more,  send  him  off  with  a  char- 
acter that  would  forever  prevent  his  getting  another  school? 
Would  he  be  such  a  stupid  fool  as  to  do  this  ?  Never !  and 
you  all  now  see  and  know  it.  There  is  thought  number  two 
for  you. 

"  Once  more.  In  what  I  have  said,  L  have  taken  you  wholly 
on  your  own  ground ;  so  that  you  should  not  say  I  could  meet 
you  only  on  my  own  dunghill.  I  will  now  make  you  come  on 
to  my  ground,  and  see  if  you  can  stand  fire  any  better  there. 
And  this  is  my  ground: — I  say  that  this  black  art,  as  you 
understand  it,  the  faculty  of  foretelling  events,  together  with 
sorcery,  magic,  or  witchery,  and  every  other  art  that  lays  claim 
to  any  such  faculty  by  the  aid  of  figures,  or  anything  else,  is 
all  moonshine,  imposition,  and  falsehood.  And  I  don't  want 
to  set  before  you  but  one  single  idea  to  make  you  know  and  feel 
the  truth  of  my  assertion.  Now  follow  me.  Did  you  ever 
know  or  hear  of  a  rich  fortune-teller,  black-art-worker,  or  con- 
jurer ?  Speak  out,  if  you  ever  did.  A  single  one  that  was  rich, 
I  say.  You  don't  speak  ?  No  ;  for  you  can't  say  you  ever  did 
hear  of  such  an  one.  You  all  well  know  that  they  are  a  set 
of  poor,  beggarly  rascals  from  beginning  to  end.  Well  now, 
what  prevents  them,  as  I  said  of  our  master  here,  if  they  have 
'  this  faculty  of  looking  or  figuring  into  futurity,  from  seeing  and 
seizing  upon  every  lottery  ticket  that  is  to  draw  a  good  prize  ; 
from  buying  every  article  in  the  markets  that  is  about  to  rise 
greatly  in  price?  What  prevents  them  from  doing  this,  and 
making  their  fortunes  at  a  blow  ?  Tell  me,  you,  or  you,  or  you. 
This  is  thought  number  three  for  you. 

"  Now  my  number  first  pinned  an  argument  upon  you — 
even  allowing  you  your  own  false  premises — with  nothing 
but  a  Avooden  pin  that  you  could  not  break.  My  number 
second,  still  giving  you  the  same  advantage,  put  in  a  board 
nail,  that,  with  or  without  the  pin,  not  one  of  you  could  twist 
or  move.  And  my  number  third  puts  a  double  ten  clincher 
upon  the  whole,  that  all  of  you  together  can  never  start.  Now 


330  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

stand  forth  and  gainsay  it,  ye  persecutors  of  the  best  teacher 
we  ever  had  in  the  district,  or  forever  hold  your  peace !  No 
one  speaks ;  and  I  pronounce  the  master  guiltless,  and  acquitted 
of  your  foolish  charge. 

"  But  although  the  master  is  no  way  blamable,  yet  that 
an  unusual  number  of  the  scholars  are  sick,  and  nearly  all 
drooping,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  I  am  not  going  to  deny. 
And  there  is  some  cause  for  it,  which  we  must  try  to  discover, 
that  we  may  stop  the  evil.  If  it  is  not  the  starting  point  of 
some  epidemic  disease  that  is  about  to  spread  over  the  country, 
why,  then  it  must  be  owing  to  something  wrong  about  the 
schoolhouse.  By  taking  up  the  possibilities,  one  after  another, 
I  probably  could  think  it  out  myself  within  twenty-four  hours. 
But  here  is  a  man,"  continued  the  speaker,  turning  towards  the 
doctor,  "  who  has  been  in  the  way  of  thinking  of  such  things 
half  of  his  life.  Let  us  have  his  opinion.  Dr.  Lincoln,  will 
you  favor  us  with  your  views  on  the  subject  of  inquiry?" 

The  doctor,  who  had  attentively  listened  to  the  whole  debate, 
much  of  which  he  had  appeared  to  enjoy  with  the  highest  zest, 
now  rose,  and  observed  that  he  had  already  made  up  his  mind 
to  offer  his  opinion  on  the  matter  in  question,  before  called 
on ;  and  he  would  now  proceed  to  do  so.  He  had  some  secret 
suspicion  of  the  cause  of  the  general  unhealthiness  of  the  school, 
on  first  learning  the  fact ;  and  having  come  to  the  meeting, 
mainly  with  the  view  of  satisfying  himself  in  relation  to  the 
matter,  his  attention,  during  the  time  he  had-  been  here,  had 
been  particularly  directed  to  the  subject ;  and  he  was  now  pre- 
pared to  say,  that  what  was  before  a  mere  suspicion  with  him 
was  now  a  confirmed  opinion.  The  cause,  and  sole  cause,  of 
this  unhealthiness  was  the  want  of  ventilation ;  and,  from  what 
he  had  suffered  himself  since  in  the  room,  although  the  door 
had  been  frequently  opened,  he  was  only  surprised  that  the 
condition  of  the  scholars  was  not  infinitely  worse  than  he  under- 
stood it  was.  Though  not  wishing  it  to  strengthen  his  own 
convictions,  yet,  as  it  might  better  convince  others,  he  would 
proceed  to  set  the  matter  in  a  stronger  light  before  them. 


THE  SCHOOL   IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON         331 

The  doctor,  then,  while  every  ear  and  eye  were  regarding  his 
words  and  movements  with  intense  interest,  called  on  Locke  to 
ascertain  the  number  of  cubic  feet  contained  in  the  empty  space 
of  the  room.  A  carpenter  present,  who  happened  to  have  a 
bundle  of  his  tools  with  him,  having  called  into  the  meeting 
while  on  his  way  home  from  some  finished  job,  produced  a  rule, 
and  took  the  different  dimensions  of  the  apartment  with  great 
exactness ;  when  Locke,  from  the  data  thus  furnished,  quickly 
ascertained  and  told  off  the  number  of  cubic  feet,  as  required. 
This  number,  owing  to  the  ill-advised  construction  of  the  school- 
room, in  which  the  floor  rose  from  one  side  at  so  great  an  angle 
as  to  take  up  about  one  sixth  part  of  what  would  have  been  the 
space  with  a  level  floor,  amounted  only,  with  proper  deductions 
for  stove,  seats,  etc.,  to  sixteen  hundred  cubic  feet. 

"  Now  let  me  observe,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that,  from  the  latest 
and  most  accurate  experiments  of  chemists  and  medical  men, 
it  has  been  ascertained  that  one  person,  by  respiration  from 
the  lungs  alone,  destroys  all  the  oxygen,  or  vital  principle,  in 
thirteen  cubic  feet  of  space  per  hour.  How  many  scholars  have 
you,  Mr.  Amsden  ?  " 

"  Sixty,  upon  the  average,  perhaps  more,  say  sixty-four." 

"  Ascertain,  then,  how  many  cubic  feet  of  vital  air  these  all 
will  destroy  in  one  hour." 

Both  Locke  and  Bunker,  the  latter  of  whom  now  began  to 
be  in  his  element,  almost  the  next  instant  gave  the  same  answer 
— eight  hundred  and  thirty-two  feet. 

"  How  long  do  you  generally  keep  them  in  without  inter- 
mission, in  which  the  doors  would  necessarily  remain  open  a 
moment  while  they  were  passing  out  ?  " 

"  Generally  an  hour  and  a  half,  sometimes  two." 

"  Then,  gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the  true,  but  greatly 
misconceived,  cause  of  your  trouble  and  just  alarm  is  now 
plainly  before  you.  You  see,  by  our  calculation,  that,  in  less 
than  two  hours,  all  the  air  that  can  sustain  life  a  moment  would 
be,  in  this  new  and  almost  bottle-tight  room,  if  not  renovated  by 
opening  the  doors  or  windows,  entirely  consumed.  And,  taking 


332  DANIEL   PIERCE   THOMPSON 

into  the  account  the  quantity  of  this  vital  principle  inhaled 
by  the  pores  of  so  many  persons,  and  the  probably  greater  por- 
tion destroyed  by  the  fire  and  reflecting  surface  of  the  stove  and 
pipe,  I  presume  one  hour  is  sufficient  to  render  the  air  extremely 
unhealthy  ;  an  hour  and  a  half,  absolutely  poisonous  ;  and  two 
hours,  so  fatally  so  as  to  cause  your  children  to  drop  dead  on 
the  floor." 

"  Thunder !  "  exclaimed  Bunker,  "  can  this  be  so  ?  I  long 
since  knew  that  we  were  put  upon  our  allowance,  when  in  close 
rooms,  for  the  right  kind  of  breathing  air ;  but  I  never  supposed 
there  was  so  much  death  in  the  pot  as  that  comes  to.  But  that 
fact  which  you  build  upon — the  amount  of  vital  air  a  person 
destroys  an  hour — I  am  afraid,  doctor,  you  got  it  only  out  of 
the  books,  which  I  am  rather  shy  in  trusting  for  what  I  call 
gospel." 

"  Both  from  books  and  my  own  imperfect  experiments," 
replied  Lincoln,  "  and  I  am  satisfied  that  the  proportion  is  not 
rated  too  highly.  But  I  have  not  quite  done  all  that  I  pro- 
pose in  this  case.  We  have  now  been  in  the  room,  I  perceive 
by  my  watch,  but  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  while  there  are 
not  probably  over  thirty  persons  present.  And  yet,  even  in 
this  time,  and  with  this  number,  I  will  ask  you  all,  if  you  do 
not  feel  oppressed  and  uneasy  from  the  impurity  of  the  air 
here?" 

"  I  do — and  I — and  I  too,"  responded  several  ;  while  others, 
as  the  case  was  thus  now  brought  home  to  their  own  senses, 
which  plainly  spoke  in  the  affirmative,  sprang  forward  in 
alarm  to  throw  open  the  doors. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,"  said  the  doctor,  interposing.  "  We  can 
live  awhile  longer ;  and  I  wish  in  some  degree  to  satisfy  you, 
and  particularly  Captain  Bunker  here,  whose  thorough  mode 
of  coming  at  results  I  much  admire,  that  what  I  have  said  is 
not  altogether  incapable  of  proof,  even  with  the  means  at  hand. 
Cannot  our  carpenter  here,  with  a  few  minutes'  work,  so  alter 
the  casings,  that  the  upper  sashes  of  these  windows  can  be 
lowered  some  few  inches  ?  " 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HORN  OF  THE  MOON    333 

Locke — who  felt  both  pained  and, chagrined  that  his  inatten- 
tion to  this  matter,  in  which  he  so  well  knew  all  the  principles 
involved,  should  have  so  nearly  led  to  disastrous  consequences, 
and  whose  active  mind,  having  seen  through  the  whole  subject 
at  a  glance,  the  moment  the  doctor  put  him  on  the  track,  had 
long  since  been  engaged  in  devising  a  ready  remedy  for  the 
discovered  evil — here  interposed,  and  suggested  that  an  open- 
ing made  in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  would  best  effect  the 
object  in  view. 

"  If  it  can  be  done  ?  "  inquiringly  said  the  doctor. 

"  Be  done !  "  said  Bunker,  "  yes,  it  can.  Here,  carpenter,  up 
in  this  chair  with  your  tools,  and  make  a  hole  through  there, 
in  no  time.  This  business  is  just  beginning  to  get  through  my 
hair." 

A  few  moments  sufficed  to  make  an  aperture  about  eight 
inches  square,  opening  into  the  attic  story  above ;  the  square 
form  being  adopted,  as  best  comporting  with  the  simple  contri- 
vance with  which  it  was  proposed  to  cover  it — that  of  a  mere 
board  slide,  supported  by  cleats,  in  which  it  would  play  back 
and  forth,  as  the  aperture  required  to  be  opened  for  ventilation, 
or  shut  to  preserve  the  warmth  of  the  room.  Scarcely  had  the 
workman  time  to  adjust  the  slide  in  its  place,  before  every 
particle  of  impure  air  had  apparently  escaped  through  the 
opening,  to  pass  off  by  the  crevices  in  the  roof.  All  felt  and 
acknowledged  the  change  with  astonishment  and  delight.  The 
sensations  of  languor  and  oppression  that  had  begun  to  weigh 
heavily  on  the  feelings  and  spirits  of  the  company,  had  left 
them  almost  as  unexpectedly  and  suddenly  as  fell  the  bundle 
of  sins  from  the  back  of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Doctor  Lincoln,  as  he  looked  round, 
and  saw  in  the  speaking  countenances  of  the  company  that  all 
were  as  well  satisfied  as  they  were  gratified  at  the  result ;  "  I 
believe  the  mystery  is  now  solved.  At  all  events,  I'll  agree  to 
cure  for  nothing  all  the  scholars  that  are  hereafter  made  sick 
from  anything  about  the  schoolhouse,  or  in  the  conduct  of 
their  master." 


334  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

"  Yes,  the  room  is  as  clear  as  a  horn,  by  George  !  "  exclaimed 
Bunker,  "  and  the  thing  is  done — proved  out  as  square  as  a 
brick,  right  in  our  face  and  eyes ;  and  there's  no  getting  away 
from  it.  But  what  sticks  in  my  crop  is,  that  we  must  have  a 
man — and  a  book  man,  too,  though  he  plainly  don't  swallow 
books  whole,  without  chewing,  as  most  of  'em  do — have  a  man 
come  thirty  miles  to  think  it  out  for  us !  Master,  you  and  I 
ought  to  be  trounced." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Moderator,"  said  the  deacon's  tormentor,  the 
rustic  humorist,  we  mean,  who  was  the  first  to  take  up  for 
Locke  in  the  debate,  and  who  now  seemed  greatly  to  enjoy  the 
triumph  of  the  latter  over  the  little  clique  of  his  chop-fallen 
foes — "  Well,  Mr.  Moderator,  how  is  it  about  the  old  boy  and 
his  little  blue  influences,  now  ?  Don't  you  think  they've  pretty 
much  all  cleared  out  through  that  hole  up  yonder  ?  Ah  !  I 
was  about  right,  deacon :  if  the  old  chap  had  been  any  great 
affair,  he  couldn't  have  crept  out  through  so  small  a  hole  as 
that  comes  to,  quite  so  quick,  you  may  depend  on  V 

But  the  deacon,  who  suddenly  recollected  a  promise  he  hac3 
made  to  carry,  that  night,  some  thorough-wort  to  a  jaundery 
neighbor,  was  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  reply  to  such  scoffing 
questions ;  and  he,  with  one  or  two  of  his  most  zealous  sup- 
porters, immediately  quitted  the  house,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
vanquished  party,  whether  superstitionists  or  alarmists,  to  join 
the  master  and  his  increasing  number  of  friends,  acknowledge 
their  error,  and  reciprocate  congratulations  on  the  unexpectedly 
happy  result  of  the  whole  of  this  singular  affair.  We  say  the 
whole ;  for,  before  the  company  broke  up,  word  was  brought 
by  one  of  the  larger  scholars,  who  had  gone  over  to  Widow 
Marvin's  during  the  meeting,  and  just  returned,  that  the  sick 
boy  there  had  fallen  into  a  quiet  sleep,  attended  by  gentle  per- 
spiration ; — symptoms  which  the  gratified  doctor  at  once  pro- 
nounced to  be  a  plain  indication  that  the  disease  was  going  off 
by  what  he  technically  termed  resolution.  And  the  result,  in 
this  case  at  least,  went  to  prove  the  doctor's  skill  in  prognostics. 
The  boy,  after  that  night,  was  consigned,  by  his  departing  phy- 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  HoRN  OF  THE  MOON    335 

sician,  to  the  care  only  of  his  grateful  mother,  who,  within  a 
fortnight,  had  the  unspeakable  happiness  of  seeing  her  darling 
son  restored  to  health  and  his  still  loved  but  now  more  tem- 
perately pursued  studies. 

Of  the  remainder  of  young  Amsden's  career  in  this  district, 
little  more  need  be  added.  Compared  with  the  trials,  vexa- 
tions, and  labors  of  the  past,  he  now  found  but  a  path  of 
flowers.  The  recent  misfortune  in  his  school,  and  the  conse- 
quent infatuated  movement  to  overthrow  him,  operating  as  all 
overwrought  persecutions  usually  do,  instead  of  injuring  him, 
were  the  means  of  turning  the  popular  current  strongly  in  his 
favor,  and  of  giving  him  a  place  in  the  estimation  of  nearly  all 
around  him  which  he  otherwise  would  have  failed  to  obtain. 

Being  no  further  troubled  with  the  injudicious  interference  of 
parents,  or  the  misbehavior  of  their  children, — those  two  evils 
which  too  often  require  the  best  part  of  a  teacher's  time  and 
attention  to  meet  and  overcome — he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
instruct  his  pupils.  And  by  no  means  unprofitably  did  the 
latter  use  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  them.  From  a  rough, 
wild,  unthinking  set  of  creatures,  who  could  appreciate  nothing 
but  animal  pleasures  or  physical  prowess,  they  became  rational 
beings,  ambitious  for  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  capable 
of  intellectual  pleasures.  A  new  standard  of  taste  and  merit, 
in  short,  had  been  imperceptibly  raised  among  them  ;  and  the 
winter  that  Locke  Amsden  kept  school  Became  an  era  in  the 
district,  from  which  commenced  a  visible  and  happy  change  in 
the  whole  moral  and  intellectual  tone  of  its  society. 

Nor  were  the  advantages  which  attended  his  exertions  in 
this  place  wholly  on  one  side.  In  teaching  others,  the  master 
himself  was  often  taught.  Questions  were  daily  put  to  him, 
even  by  children  in  their  abs,  which  led  him  to  reflection,  re- 
search, and  discoveries  of  truths,  which,  thorough  scholar  as  he 
was,  he  found,  to  his  surprise,  he  had  before  overlooked,  and 
which  otherwise  might  never  have  occurred  to  him  ; — discov- 
eries, we  repeat,  of  important  truths,  in  almost  every  study  of 
his  school,  and  particularly  in  those  of  orthography,  orthoepy, 


336  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

and  etymology,  those  sadly  neglected  branches  which  require 
a  philosopher  to  teach  them  understandingly,  but  which  are 
yet,  oftener  than  otherwise,  intrusted  to  the  teaching  of  an 
ignoramus ! 

In  what  is  termed  a  physical  education,  also,  he  here  re- 
ceived hints  which  led  him  to  the  adoption  of  much  more 
correct  and  enlarged  views  than  any  he  had  before  entertained. 
His  attention,  indeed,  had  never  been  directed  to  the  subject ; 
and  he  had  therefore  continued  to  look  upon  it  as  did  others 
around  him,  either  as  a  matter  of  little  importance,  or,  at  best, 
as  one  which  had  no  legitimate  connection  with  popular  edu- 
cation. But  the  painful  and  alarming  occurrences  which  we 
have  described,  as  arising  from  the  want  of  ventilation  in  his 
schoolhouse,  taught  him  a  lesson  which  could  not  be  disre- 
garded or  easily  forgotten ;  caused  him  to  give  an  earnest  con- 
sideration to  this  subject  in  ell  its  bearings,  whether  in  relation 
to  ventilation,  length  of  confinement  to  study,  or  ease  of  posi- 
tion ;  and  forced  upon  his  mind  the  conviction,  that  physical 
education,  or  an  observance  of  those  laws  of  life  which  can  only 
insure  the  health  of  the  body,  and  the  consequent  health  of  the 
mind,  is,  as  truly  as  any  other,  a  part  of  an  instructor's  duty, 
for  the  performance  of  which,  before  high  Heaven,  he  will  be 
held  responsible. 

The   Examination  at  Mill  Town   Emporium 

(From  "  Locke  Amsden ;  or,  the  Schoolmaster") 

In  his  journeys  to  and  from  college,  at  the  time  of  his  ma- 
triculation, and  afterwards  on  his  occasional  brief  visits  to  his 
family,  young  Amsden  had  passed  through  a  thriving  little 
village,  which  was  generally  known  by  the  name  of  Mill  Town, 
but  which  its  ambitious  inhabitants  had  recently  thought  to 
dignify  by  re-christening  it  by  the  more  sonorous  and  classical 
appellation  of  Mill  Town  Emporium.  The  village,  number- 
ing perhaps  two  hundred  souls,  contained  a  store,  a  tavern,  a 
cluster  of  mills,  and  several  very  spruce-looking  dwelling- 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      337 

houses,  among  which  the  newly  painted  two-story  house  of  the 
merchant  glared  in  conspicuous  whiteness.  And,  as  our  hero 
was  now  on  his  way  homeward,  and  in  search  of  some  good 
situation  in  a  winter's  school,  which  he  had  neglected  to 
secure, — though  many  eligible  ones  had  been  offered  him, 
which  he  had  declined  on  account  of  their  location, — he  con- 
cluded to  call  at  this  place,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  he 
might  not  here  obtain  a  situation,  which  for  him  might  prove 
a  desirable  one,  as  the  village  was  pleasantly  located  on  the 
main  road  leading  to  and  within  half  a  day's  ride  from  the  resi- 
dence of  his  family,  with  whom  he  wished  to  keep  up  a  per- 
sonal intercourse. 

Upon  inquiry  of  the  bustling  keeper  of  the  inn  where  he 
stopped,  Locke  was  told  that  the  village  school  had  not  yet 
been  supplied  with  a  teacher ;  and  that  the  managing  commit- 
tee, consisting  of  the  merchant  of  the  place,  the  tailor,  and  the 
newspaper  editor  (for  a  political  newspaper  called  the  Blazing 
Star  had  just  been  established  in  this  miniature  city), "  were  now 
on  the  lookout  to  engage  a  man  of  those  splendidest  qualifica- 
tions which  the  growing  importance  of  the  place  demanded." 

Though  somewhat  startled  at  this  pompous  announcement, 
our  candidate  yet  took  directions  to  the  house  of  the  mer- 
chant, who,  it  was  said,  would  probably  exercise  a  rather  con- 
trolling influence  among  this  able  board  of  managers.  A  few 
steps  brought  him  to  the  showy  white  house  before  named, 
as  belonging  to  the  popular  personage — as  an  only  merchant 
of  a  little  village  generally  is — of  whom  he  was  in  quest.  On 
applying  the  knocker,  the  door  was  opened  by  the  merchant 
himself,  who  appeared  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  invited 
the  other  into  his  sitting-room,  where  it  appeared  he  had  been 
posting  his  books.  He  was  a  youngerly  man,  of  an  affectedly 
brisk  and  courteous  manner.  Supposing  his  visitor  had  called 
for  the  purposes  of  trade,  he  received  him  with  all  the  smirks 
and  bows  of  a  practiced  salesman,  and  began  to  talk  rapidly 
about  nothing — i.e.,  the  state  of  the  weather,  and  the  condi- 
tion of  the  roads  for  traveling.  As  soon,  however,  as  Locke 
s.  M.— 22 


338  DANIEL   PIERCE   THOMPSON 

announced  his  name  and  business,  he  suddenly  became  much 
less  profuse  of  his  bows  and  smiles,  and,  assuming  a  conse- 
quential air,  observed : 

"  Why,  sir,  we  are  not  over-anxious  to  engage  a  teacher  just 
now — though,  to  be  sure,  we  have  so  many  applications  press- 
ing upon  us  that  we  shall  be  compelled  to  decide  soon.  But 
you  see,  sir,  we  have  a  flourishing  village  here.  It  is  thought 
we  shall  have  an  academy  soon.  There  are  many  public- 
spirited  and  genteel  people  in  the  place ;  and  they  will  not  be 
suited  with  anything  short  of  a  teacher  of  the  most  superfine 
qualifications." 

"  I  trust  to  be  able  to  answer  all  reasonable  expectations,  in 
that  respect,"  remarked  Amsden,  scarcely  able  to  repress  a 
smile  at  the  other's  singular  application  of  terms. 

"  Presume  it — presume  it — that  is,  can't  say  to  the  contrary. 
But  do  you  bring  any  letters  of  credit  with  you  ?  " 

"  Credentials  ?  I  have  something  of  the  kind  about  me,  I 
believe;  but  having  seen  how  easily  they  are  obtained,  and 
how  little  reliance  the  public  place  upon  them,  I  thought  not  of 
offering  them,  preferring  to  be  examined,  and  not  doubting 
that  your  committee  would  be  abundantly  able  to  satisfy  your- 
selves of  my  qualifications  by  such  a  course  much  better  than 
by  a  dependence  on  the  certificates  of  others." 

"  That's  fair — that's  fair,  sir.  Why,  to  be  sure,  I  profess  to 
know  something  myself  about  education,  having  been  to  an 
academy  a  quarter  before  entering  business ;  and  the  gentlemen 
who  are  committee  with  me,  one  the  editor  of  the  Blazing  Star, 
and  the  other  the  merchant  tailor  of  our  village,  are  both  men 
of  some  parts — especially  our  editor,  whom  I  consider  to  be  a 
man  of  splendid  talents.  I  will  send  for  them,  sir." 

So  saying,  the  merchant  committee-man  went  out  and  dis- 
patched a  boy  for  his  colleagues,  who  soon  made  their  appear- 
ance, and  were  thereupon  introduced,  in  due  form,  to  our  candi- 
date for  the  throne  of  a  village  school.  The  new-comers  also 
were  both  men  below  the  middle  age.  He  of  the  goose  (we 
mean  no  disrespect  to  that  honest  calling,  who  take  all  the 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      339 

jokes  and  get  all  the  money)  was  a  man  of  a  fair,  feminine 
appearance,  of  pert,  jaunty  manners,  and  of  showy  dress,  done 
in  the  very  extremes  of  last  year's  city  fashions,  though  recently 
made,  and  now  worn  as  a  sort  of  sign-board  sample  to  display 
constantly  before  the  great  public  of  Mill  Town  Emporium,  and 
its  tributaries,  convincing  proof  of .  his  signal  ability  to  make 
good  the  glowing  professions  of  his  standing  advertisement  in 
the  Blazing  Star,  "  to  be  always  prepared  to  cut  and  make  to 
order  after  the  very  latest  New  York  and  London  fashions." 
The  editor  was  a  personage  of  quite  a  different  appearance. 
He  was  grave  and  severe  of  look,  his  countenance  plainly  indi- 
cating how  deeply  he  was  conscious  of  the  important  respon- 
sibilities of  his  position,  as  conductor  of  the  Blazing  Star,  on 
which  the  political  destinies  of  the  country  so  much  depended. 

The  sage  trio,  who  were  to  decide  on  our  hero's  qualifications 
in  the  sciences,  being  thus  brought  together,  the  merchant 
announced  to  his  colleagues  the  cause  of  the  convocation,  and 
the  progress  already  made  in  the  business  on  hand. 

"  Do  you  teach  after  the  latest  style  and  fashion  of  teaching, 
sir?"  commenced  the  tailor;  "there  must  be  much  in  that, 
I  think.  There  is  nothing  like  keeping  up  with  the  improve- 
ments and  latest  style  of  the  times,  if  one  calculates  to  succeed, 
in  almost  anything,  at  this  day." 

"  As  far  as  I  could  see  changes  to  be  improvements,  I  cer- 
tainly should  follow  them,"  replied  Locke. 

"  Do  you  teach  book-keeping  ?  "  asked  the  merchant ;  "  I  con- 
sider that  to  be  of  the  last  importance." 

"  Literally,  so  do  I,  sir.  An  understanding,  and  mechanical 
skill  of  execution,  of  the  principles  of  penmanship,  I  consider  of 
the  first  importance ;  and,  these  attained,  it  may  be  lastly  im- 
portant that  the  pupil  be  instructed  in  book-keeping,"  answered 
Locke,  without  observing  the  air  of  pique  which  became  visible 
in  the  countenance  of  the  interrogator  at  this  answer. 

"  I  feel  impelled  by  my  sense  of  duty  to  my  country,"  said 
the  editor,  "  to  make  a  preliminary  question.  And  I  trust  the 
gentleman  will  excuse  my  desire  to  know  which  of  the  two 


340  DANIEL   PIERCE   THOMPSON 

great  political  parties  of  the  day  he  supports.  This  I  would  not 
consider  a  sine  qua  non,1  or  even  very  important,  at  some  periods 
in  our  public  affairs;  but  when,  as  now,  I  see  an  obnoxious 
party  power  stalking  through  the  land,  like  the  besom  of  de- 
struction, to  overthrow  the  sacred  liberties  of  the  country,  I  do 
hold  it  an  imperious  duty  to  know  the  principles  of  those  we 
encourage;  not  because  I  should  fear  that  one  of  that  party, 
whose  further  increase  I  so  much  deprecate,  could  exercise  a 
pernicious  influence  in  our  intelligent  village,  where,  since  the 
establishment  of  the  Blazing  Star,  the  political  views  of  the 
people,  I  am  proud  to  say,  are  so  generally  correct — no,  not  at 
all  on  that  account,  but  for  the  inherent  principle  of  the  thing." 

"  I  have  never,"  replied  Locke,  utterly  surprised  that  a  test- 
question  of  this  kind  should  be  put  to  him,  "  I  have  never,  till 
within  the  present  year,  been  qualified  by  age  for  a  voter.  I 
have  examined  the  leading  principles  of  our  government,  it 
is  true,  and  I  much  admire  them;  but,  supposing  that  the 
opposing  parties  of  the  day  were  all  mainly  agreed  in  their 
aims  to  sustain  those  principles,  and  were,  after  all,  only  dis- 
puting about  men,  or  at  the  worst,  the  different  means  of  gain- 
ing the  same  end,  I  have  so  little  interested  myself  in  party 
questions,  that  I  have  as  yet  formed  no  decided  preferences  for 
either  side." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  rejoined  the  editor.  "  If  you  sup- 
pose that  both  parties  are  for  sustaining  the  same  principles, 
you  are  most " 

The  speaker  was  here  interrupted  by  a  smart  rap  of  the 
knocker  without.  The  merchant  sprang  to  the  door,  and  soon 
ushered  into  the  room  a  personage  alike  unexpected  and  un- 
known to  all  present.  His  appearance  at  once  showed  him  to 
be  a  person  of  many  airs,  with  no  lack  of  confidence  in  himself. 
He  carried  a  tasseled  cane,  and  wore  a  showy  safety  chain, 
with  an  abundance  of  watch  seals,  to  say  the  least,  dangling 
from  his  pocket,  while  his  dress  was  what  has  significantly 
been  termed  the  shabby  genteel.  After  inquiring  if  the  gentle- 
1  an  indispensable  condition 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM       341 

men  present  were  the  school  committee,  he  announced  his  busi- 
ness, which,  to  the  surprise,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  somewhat 
to  the  uneasiness  of  our  hero,  proved  to  be  the  same  that  had 
prompted  his  own  call.  The  committee,  however,  seemed  very 
far  from  looking  upon  the  visit  of  the  stranger  as  an  intrusion ; 
and,  apprising  him  that  they  had  just  commenced  the  exami- 
nation of  one  candidate,  they  told  him  "  the  more  the  merrier," 
as  it  would  afford  them  a  better  chance  for  selection,  and 
invited  him  to  make  number  two;  which,  being  assented  to, 
they  proceeded  with  the  examination. 

"  What  are  your  views,  Mr.  Blake — for  that,  I  think,  you  told 
me  was  your  name  " — said  the  editor,  whose  mind  was  still 
running  on  the  subject  on  which  he  was  about  to  be  eloquent, 
when  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  new  candidate ; 
"  What  are  your  views  of  the  propriety  of  instilling  correct 
political  principles  into  the  minds  of  your  pupils,  who  are  the 
rising  generation,  and  soon  to  wield  the  destinies  of  our  glorious 
republic  ?  " 

"  I  hold,  sir,"  replied  Blake,  who,  it  appeared,  had  cunningly 
inquired  out  the  calling,  politics,  etc.,  of  each  of  the  committee, 
before  coming  near  them, — "  I  do  hold,  though  others  may 
disagree  with  me,  that  it  is  rather  important  to  attend  to  the 
particular  you  have  instigated,  sir.  I'm  always  open  in  my 
politics.  I  read  several  articles  in  a  newspaper  over  at  the  tav- 
ern, just  now,  while  waiting  for  my  dinner,  that  speaks  my 
sentiments  on  that  head  exactly." 

"  What  paper  was  it  ?  "  eagerly  asked  the  editor. 

"  I  didn't  mind  particularly,"  replied  the  other,  with  affected 
carelessness ;  "  but  I  think  it  was  the  Star,  or  some  such  title." 

"  The  Blazing  Star  ? "  said  the  former,  with  a  complaisant 
bow. 

"  The  same,"  rejoined  Blake,  "  the  very  same ;  I  now  re- 
call it." 

"  That  is  the  paper,  sir,  which  I  have  the  honor  of  con- 
ducting," said  the  other,  with  another  bow,  and  a  gracious 
smile. 


342  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

"  Indeed !  Why,  sir,"  said  Blake,  with  pretended  embarrass- 
ment, "  why,  sir,  had  I  supposed — but  I  was  so  struck  with  the 
able — I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  sir,  for  introducing  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,  sir,"  interrupted  the  editor.  "  I  feel 
myself  both  flattered  and  gratified  by  your  opinions.  There, 
gentlemen,"  he  continued,  turning  with  a  triumphant  air  to  his 
two  associates,  "  I  have  done  what  I  considered  my  duty  with 
the  candidates,  on  the  point  in  which  I  feel  a  deep  interest.  I 
am  now  willing  to  turn  them  over  to  you,  for  examination  in 
the  sciences." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  what  Mr.  Blake  thinks  about  teaching 
book-keeping  in  a  school,  since  I  have  the  misfortune  to  disagree 
with  the  other  gentleman  here,"  said  the  merchant. 

"Book-keeping?"  said  Blake,  instantly  catching  a  hint  from 
the  last  part  of  the  other's  observation.  "  Oh,  book-keeping  is 
quite  essential — quite,  sir,  quite ;  I  always  learn  it  to  my 
pupils." 

"  I  think  so ;  I  think  it's  an  important  item  in  the  account," 
responded  the  merchant,  glancing  round  at  his  colleagues, 
significantly,  as  he  threw  himself  back  with  a  self-satisfied  air. 

"  I  have  a  boy,"  said  the  tailor,  "  whom  is  pretty  cute  in 
grammar,  as  all  allow ;  and  I  would  be  pleased  to  hear  the 
gentlemen  explain  on  that  department,  and  tell  whether  their 
mode  and  manner  of  teaching  it  is  of  the  latest  style  ?  " 

Mr.  Blake  here  being  not  so  prompt  as  usual  in  taking  the 
lead,  Amsden  briefly  but  clearly  explained  the  first  principles 
of  English  Grammar,  the  object  and  uses  of  that  branch,  and 
his  manner  of  teaching  it  by  the  text-books  of  Murray  and 
others.  The  other  candidate,  after  waiting  till  pressed  to  give 
his  views  in  so  pointed  a  manner,  that  he  saw  no  way  to  avoid 
saying  something  on  the  subject — with  some  hesitation  ob- 
served : 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  my  notions  about  grammar  may  be  dif- 
ferent from  others,  perhaps  yours.  Now  my  sentiments  is  some- 
thing like  this : — the  true  use  of  grammar  is  to  learn  'em  sense. 
Well,  in  what  the  gentleman  here  calls  parsing  Syntax,  /,  now, 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      343 

should  make  my  scholars  find  out  the  sense  of  a  piece.  And 
if  they  can  do  that,  it  is  all  I  should  require ;  because  the  only 
use  of  grammar  being  to  learn  'em  the  sense,  as  I  said,  why,  the 
work  is  done,  ain't  it  ?  I  take  it  so,  gentlemen.  But  suppose 
they  can't  do  this,  then  I  should  take  the  piece  in  hand  my- 
self; and  if  I  could  not  make  sense  out  of  it  then  I  should 
call  it  false  grammar,  that's  all.  So  when  I  have  my  scholars 
write  compositions,  I  square  the  grammar  of  their  pieces  upon 
the  sense  they  contain ;  for  where  there's  sense,  there  must,  in 
course,  be  grammar ;  and  visy  versy.  Now  that's  my  system, 
gentlemen.  For  I  have  no  notion  of  spoiling  sense  to  make  it 
fay  in  with  book  rules ;  but  I  make  the  grammar  come  down 
to  the  sense,  not  the  sense  give  up  to  the  grammar." 

"  Just  my  sentiments,  to  a  shaving !  "  exclaimed  the  mer- 
chant. "  I  used  to  study  grammar  when  at  the  academy,  and 
bothered  and  bothered  to  parse  by  the  rules;  but  I  never  could 
see  the  use  of  it.  And  now,  in  my  business  letters,  I  never 
think  of  trying  to  write  by  any  of  the  rules  I  learnt ;  and  yet 
I  write  grammar,  because  I  write  sense,  as  he  says.  Yes,  them's 
my  sentiments  about  grammar." 

"  Well,  it  does  look  kinder  reasonable,"  said  the  tailor,  "  though 
my  boy  learnt  the  rules,  Syntax,  and  catemology,  and  all ;  and 
I  don't  know  what  he  would  say  to  leaving  'em  off.  But  per- 
haps this  way  of  teaching  grammar  the  gentleman  speaks  of  is 
some  new  imported  fashion  that's  soon  to  be  all  the  style?" 
he  added,  inquiringly  looking  at  the  patent  grammarian  who 
had  just  before  spoken. 

"  Precisely,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  conciliating  nod ;  "  it 
is  indeed,  sir,  a  new  system,  of  the  very  latest  cut." 

"  I  am  satisfied,  then,  sir,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"  Which  is  the  most  useful  rule  in  arithmetic,  Mr.  Amsden  ? " 
asked  the  merchant.  "  I  profess  to  know  something  about  that." 

"  Why,  that  would  be  nearly  as  difficult  to  tell,  I  imagine, 
as  regards  all  the  fundamental  rules,  as  it  would  be  to  point 
out  the  most  useful  wheel  of  a  watch,  in  which  all  the  wheels 
are  required  to  keep  the  whole  in  motion,"  replied  Locke. 


344  DANIEL   PIERCE   THOMPSON 

"  Now  I  don't  think  so,"  said  the  questioner ;  "  but  I'll  ask 
Mr.  Blake." 

"  Oh,  I  say  the  rule  that  helps  a  man  most  to  do  business  by, 
and  you  know  quite  well  what  that  is,  I  fancy ;  for  you  tell 
what  the  articles  you  sell  come  to  by  that,"  observed  Blake, 
obsequiously  bowing  to  the  merchant. 

"  Ay ;  I  see  you  are  a  practical  man,  Mr.  Blake,"  here  chimed 
in  the  editor ;  "  and  such  men  are  the  very  nerves  and  sinews 
of  our  republic." 

"  I  care  less  about  that,"  rejoined  the  merchant ;  "  but  I  must 
say  I  approve  the  gentleman's  views  of  grammar  and  arith- 
metic. But  suppose  we  now  pass  on  to  geography 

"  How  do  you  bound  the  Polar  Sea,  Mr.  Amsden  ?  " 

"  Which  Polar  Sea  ?  "  asked  Locke,  quite  innocently. 

"  Why,  the  Frozen  Sea,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  must  still  ask  to  which  Polar  or  Frozen  Sea  you  refer, 
sir,  before  I  can  answer  your  question,"  said  the  former ;  "  the 
Northern  or  Southern  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  beats  me,"  observed  the  erudite  dealer ;  "  I  had 
supposed  the  Frozen  Ocean  was,  of  course,  in  the  north ;  for 
we  all  know  that  the  farther  we  go  north,  the  colder  it  is ;  and 
the  farther  we  go  south,  the  warmer  it  is.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Blake?" 

"  Why,  I  had  thought  so,  certainly,"  responded  Blake,  glanc- 
ing at  Amsden  with  a  supercilious  smile — "  not  that  I  have  any 
wish  to  expose  anybody's  ignorance,  by  any  means ;  but  being 
appealed  to  in  the  matter,  so,  it's  but  civil  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion. And,  now  I  am  speaking  on  the  subject  of  geographical 
literature,  I  may  as  well,  gentlemen,"  he  continued — deeming 
it  now  a  favorable  time  to  press  the  advantage  he  supposed  he 
had  gained  over  his  rival,  by  an  extra  display  of  his  erudition 
— "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  I  rather  pride  myself 
on  my  knowledge  of  terrestrial  geography,  and  my  improved 
modes  of  teaching  it.  I  teach  it  almost  entirely  by  maps,  and 
the  map-making  process.  And  it  would  astonish  you  to  see 
how  quick  scholars,  in  this  way,  will  become  accomplished  geo- 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM       345 

graphians.  I  learn  'em,  in  a  very  short  time,  also,  to  make  the 
most  splendid  maps,  equal,  nearly,  to  the  printed  ones,  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  both  on  Mercator's  project,  as  they  call  it,  and 
on  the  principle  of  circular  latitudes.  Nor  is  this  but  a  small 
part  of  the  embellishments  I  teach  my  scholars,  when  they 
have  the  proper  instruments  to  work  with.  There's  the  prob- 
lems and  the  circles,  the  squares,  triangular  geometry,  ovals, 
perspective  configurations,  and  a  thousand  curious  things  I 
could  teach,  if  I  only  had  the  instruments;  such  as  Gunter's 
dividers,  circumflutors,  and  the  like.  And  then  I  would  teach 
musical  psalmody,  of  evenings,  for  nothing,  which,  as  I  see  you 
are  about  building  a  new  church  here,  might  be  an  object.  In 
short,  gentlemen,  I  should  be  very  happy  to  add  my  best  powers 
in  accomplishing  your  children,  and  helping  to  build  up  your 
flourishing  village.  But  I  leave  the  decision  to  you,  gentlemen, 
with  the  greatest  pleasure  ;  because  I  have  discovered  you  to  be 
men  of  the  most  ecstatic  discernment." 

As  soon  as  the  speaker  had  fairly  delivered  himself  of  this 
learned  harangue,  Amsden,  who  knew  not  which  most  to  ad- 
mire, the  effrontery  and  ignorance  of  the  fellow,  or  the  igno- 
rance and  blindness  of  the  committee  who  seemed  so  readily 
to  swallow  all  he  said  —  inquired  if  there  was  not  some  man  of 
science  in  the  place  who  could  be  called  in  to  conduct  the 
examination,  and  assist  the  committee  in  deciding  upon  the 
merits  of  the  applicants  now  before  them.  This  inquiry,  as 
reasonable  and  fair  as  was  its  obvious  object,  produced,  as  a 
close  observer  might  have  easily  seen,  considerable  sensation  in 
the  before  well-assured  mind  of  Locke's  exulting  competitor; 
and  his  uneasiness  was  the  next  moment  increased  into  down- 
right apprehension  by  a  remark  of  the  tailor,  who,  in  a  rather 
hesitating  manner,  said  : 

"  Why,  there's  the  minister  that  preaches  half  the  time  here 
—  and  he's  now  in  the  place,  I  guess.  He's  a  college-learnt 
man,  they  say,  and  would  be  willing  to  come  in,  perhaps, 


"  Why,  if  these  gentlemen,"  interrupted  Blake,  rising  in  visi- 


346  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

ble  agitation,  "  if  these  gentlemen  don't  consider  themselves 
capable  of  deciding  on  our  qualifications  and  embellishments, 
then,  I  say,  I  am  willing — perfectly  willing,  I  say,  too " 

"  Well,  I  am  not,"  interposed  the  luminous  head  of  the  Blaz- 
ing Star,  with  much  decision.  "  I  shall  most  pointedly  object 
to  that  measure.  I  should  consider  it  as  no  less  than  involv- 
ing an  approach  to  a  sanction  of  that  never-to-be-enough  repro- 
bated doctrine  of  the  union  of  church  and  state.  And  I  should 
raise  my  voice " 

"  Ah !  I  think  we  can  get  along,"  said  the  merchant,  breaking 
in  on  the  latter,  and  now  rising  and  looking  at  his  watch  with 
an  impatient  and  irritated  air,  "  I  think  we  can  get  along  with- 
out the  help  of  the  minister  in  this  business.  And  if  the  two 
gentlemen,"  he  continued,  with  rather  a  discriminating  gesture, 
"  will  step  into  the  other  room,  or  over  to  the  tavern,  we  can 
probably  come  to  a  decision  of  the  case  without  much  trouble,  I 
think." 

The  two  candidates  accordingly  retired, — Blake  into  the 
adjoining  room,  and  Amsden,  as  was  doubtless  intended,  to 
the  tavern, — to  give  to  the  astute  trio  of  examiners  an  oppor- 
tunity for  private  deliberation. 

"Shall  we  mark,  gentlemen?"  said  the  merchant,  cutting 
three  separate  slips  of  paper,  and  passing  two  of  them  to  his 
colleagues,  with  a  pencil,  that  each  might  write  the  name  of 
the  candidate  he  would  select,  and  present  it  for  comparison 
with  those  of  the  others,  after  the  manner  of  appraising  a  horse. 

"  Well,  if  I  was  fully  satisfied  about  Mr.  Blake's  grammar  " — 
said  the  tailor,  doubtingly,  holding  his  pencil  over  his  paper. 

"  I  am  satisfied  about  it  well  enough  for  my  case,"  observed 
the  merchant,  dashing  down  the  chosen  name  with  a  decisive 
sweep  of  the  hand. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  responded  the  editor ;  "  and  what  is  more,  he 
is  sound  in  political  principles,  to  the  core." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  strenuous,  gentlemen,"  said  the  tailor,  following 
the  example  of  the  others  in  filling  his  blank. 

The  three  slips,  with  the  written  sides  downward,  were  then 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      347 

held  up  together,  and  turned  over,  bringing  the  name  on  each 
to  view.  And  it  was  Blake — Blake — Blake  ! 

"As  I  supposed,"  said  the  merchant;  "just  as  I  knew  it 
must  be.  Boy,"  he  continued,  opening  the  door  leading  into 
the  kitchen,  "  you  may  step  over  to  the  tavern,  and  say  to  the 
gentleman  who  just  went  from  here,  that  he  needn't  trouble 
himself  to  call  again.  And,  here  !  take  this  decanter,  and  get 
it  filled  with  the  best  wine  at  the  store.  We  will  call  in  Mr. 
Blake,  and  settle  the  terms  with  him,  over  a  bottle  of  my  nice 
Madeira;  for  I  feel  like  taking  a  bumper  on  the  occasion." 

Meanwhile  Locke,  who  was  traveling  horseback,  but  too  well 
anticipating  the  result  of  the  deliberation  just  described,  had 
ordered  his  horse  to  the  door,  and  stood  impatiently  waiting 
for  some  sign  or  message  from  the  white  house,  which  should 
apprise  him  of  the  decision  of  the  committee.  The  message 
came  even  sooner  than  he  expected,  and  was  delivered  by  the 
boy  literally,  and  no  less  cavalierly  than  it  was  indited  by  his 
master.  The  next  instant  our  rejected  candidate  was  in  his 
saddle,  and  leaving  Mill  Town  Emporium  at  a  pace  which 
his  sober  steed  appeared  to  wonder  should  be  required  by  one 
who  before  had  shown  himself  so  moderate  and  gentle  a  rider. 

As  soon  as  his  feelings,  smarting  with  chagrin  and  vexation 
at  his  mortifying  defeat,  and  the  folly  and  ignorance  which,  he 
believed,  alone  had  occasioned  it, — as  soon  as  his  excited  feel- 
ings had  sufficiently  subsided  to  permit  of  connected  thought, 
he  reined  his  thankful  horse  into  a  walk,  to  try  to  review  the 
novel  occurrences  he  had  just  witnessed,  and  bestow  upon  them 
something  like  sober  reflection. 

"  What  does  education  avail  me  ?  "  he  despondingly  solilo- 
quized, as  he  thought  over  his  recent  reception,  and  how  he 
had  been  set  aside  for  an  ignorant  coxcomb,  or  at  best  a  pitiful 
smatterer.  "  The  more  I  study,  the  worse  I  succeed.  Yes,  what 
avails  all  this  intellectual  toil,  if  my  acquirements  thereby  are 
to  be  thus  rewarded?"  And  as  he  pondered  upon  these  dis- 
couraging circumstances,  he  almost  resolved  to  abandon  forever 
all  thought  of  that  noble  employment  to  which  he  had  so  often 


348  DANIEL  PIERCE   THOMPSON 

declared  his  intention  to  devote  himself.  Locke  had,  thus  far, 
had  no  acquaintance  with  aught  but  country  life,  with  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  associate  ideas  of  comparative 
ignorance  and  degradation,  while  his  mind  had  been  directed 
to  villages  and  cities,  as  the  exclusive  seats  of  intelligence  and 
refinement.  Like  many  another  modest  country  lad  of  merit, 
he  would  have  bowed  in  deference  to  the  pert  dashing  villager 
or  citizen,  as  his  supposed  superior,  when  the  latter,  probably, 
possessed  not  a  tithe  of  his  own  worth  in  all  that  should  consti- 
tute true  excellence  of  character.  For  he  had  not  learned  that 
the  people  of  cities  and  villages,  as  a  mass,  are,  generally,  less 
thinking,  and  often,  less  reading  communities,  than  those  formed 
of  the  residents  of  the  country,  who,  finding  themselves  out- 
shone by  the  former  in  external  appearance,  are  thus  driven  to 
depend  more  on  intrinsic  qualities  on  which  to  base  a  reputa- 
tion, leaving  the  others  to  dazzle  by  show,  and,  too  often  only, 

"  To  measure  their  worth  by  the  cloth  of  their  coats." 

It  was  not  very  strange,  therefore,  that  with  impressions  and 
views  like  those  just  named,  contracted  through  a  limited  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  young  Amsden  should  have  presented  him- 
self at  Mill  Town  with  a  high  opinion  of  the  intelligence  of  its 
inhabitants,  or  that  his  disappointment  should  be  great  at  find- 
ing things  so  exactly  the  reverse  of  what  he  had  anticipated. 
A  knowledge  of  the  world  as  it  is  would  have  taught  him  that 
what  he  had  witnessed  was  no  miracle,  even  in  the  most  favored 
parts  of  our  land  of  boasted  intelligence ;  and  it  might  have 
taught  him  also,  that  he  who  would  succeed  must  always,  in 
some  measure,  adapt  the  means  he  employs  to  the  compass  of 
the  minds  of  those  with  whom  he  desires  success. 

As  Locke  was  slowly  jogging  onward,  deeply  engrossed  in 
reflections  which  grew  out  of  the  occasion,  and  no  less  deeply 
dejected  in  spirits  at  the  dark  and  discouraging  prospects  before 
him,  he  met  a  man  in  a  sulky,  who,  in  passing  him,  suddenly 
halted  and  pronounced  his  name.  Looking  up  at  the  trav- 
eler, now  for  the  first  time,  the  former  at  once  recognized  him 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      349 

to  be  no  other  than  Dr.  Lincoln,  the  kind  and  gifted  physician 
with  whom  he  had  formed  so  interesting  an  acquaintance  at 
his  school  in  the  Horn  of  the  Moon: 

"  Why,  this  is  a  singular  affair,  this  meeting  you  just  at  this 
time  and  place,"  said  the  doctor,  gayly,  after  the  usual  saluta- 
tions had  been  exchanged.  "  I  am  almost  minded  to  quote  a 
homely  old  proverb ;  for  I  have  not  traveled  forty  rods  since  I 
was  thinking  of  you,  and  really  wishing  that  I  knew  where  you 
might  be  found.  But  more  of  that  anon.  How  has  the  world 
used  you  since  I  parted  with  you,  Mr.  Amsden  ?  " 

"  Mainly  well — quite  so,  indeed,  if  I  except  a  little  vexation 
of  to-day's  occurrence." 

"  And  what  has  crossed  your  path  to-day  of  an  unpleasant 
nature  ?  I  perceived  at  the  first  glance  that  your  countenance 
wore  a  look  of  dejection  that  did  not  formerly  belong  to  it." 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing  of  consequence,  sir." 

"  In  one  sense,  it  may  be.  I  have  long  since  observed,  sir, 
that  there  is  no  way  in  which  a  disturbed  mind  can  be  sooner 
restored  to  its  natural  equilibrium  than  by  a  disclosure  of  its 
burden  to  others ;  even  though  it  receive  no  sympathy  in 
return.  We  are  made  social  beings ;  and  the  law  of  our  nature 
cannot  be  contravened  with  impunity  here,  any  more  than  in 
more  important  matters.  The  cause  of  your  trouble  is  none 
of  my  business  to  be  sure ;  but  a  communication  of  it,  I  will 
venture  to  say,  will  lighten  your  heart.  And  it  is  best  to  enjoy 
all  the  happiness  we  can  get,  you  know.  So  let  us  have  your 
story." 

Struck  with  the  kind  interest  which  the  other  seemed  to  take 
in  his  concerns,  Locke  proceeded  to  give  him  a  minute  detail  of 
all  the  circumstances  attending  his  application  for  the  school 
in  the  village  he  had  just  left,  his  examination,  and  the  result 
of  the  whole  affair. 

"  And  what  opinion  did  you  form  of  your  successful  rival  ?  " 
asked  the  doctor,  after  indulging  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  some 
parts  of  the  story. 

"  Why,  that  he  was  a  pitiful  ignoramus,  to  be  sure." 


350  DANIEL   PIERCE   THOMPSON 

"  Undoubtedly ;  but  yet  a  fellow  of  considerable  tact  and  a 
pretty  keen  insight  into  the  weaknesses  of  men,  and  the  un- 
worthy passions  and  selfish  motives  that  too  often  govern  them. 
And  all  this  he  had  need  of,  to  succeed  upon  pretensions  so 
ridiculous ;  but  with  it,  you  see,  he  did  succeed,  and  that  too, 
at  fearful  odds  against  him.  With  what  low  cunning  he  first 
inquired  the  characters  of  the  committee! — for  such,  as  you 
suppose,  was  probably  the  case.  And  then  how  eagerly  he 
seized  on  the  first  opportunity  to  bedaub  them  with  flattery, 
rightly  judging  that,  in  this  instance,  the  words  of  the  poet 
would  hold  good, 

'  flattery  never  seems  absurd — 

The  flattered  always  take  your  word.' 

And  having  thus  secured  the  feelings  and  prejudices  of  the 
committee  for  himself,  he  appears  fairly  to  have  exemplified, 
with  them,  the  truth  of  another  line  of  the  same  writer,  "by 
making 

'  Impossibilities  seem  just.' 

Indeed,  sir,  I  think  the  fellow,  who  may  be  a  broken-down 
pedler,  or  possibly  a  discarded  subscription*  agent  of  catch- 
penny books  or  periodicals,  managed  his  slender  stock  in  trade 
to  pretty  good  advantage.  I  see  but  one  blunder  that  need  at 
all  to  have  endangered  him  with  his  learned  examiners, — that 
was  his  mention  of  '  circumflutors,'  meaning,  probably,  to  have 
hit  on  circumferentors,  of  which  he  might  have  heard  from 
some  students  or  surveyors  with  whom  he  chanced  to  fall  in 
company,  perhaps.  But  even  that  blunder,  it  seems,  passed 
unnoticed.  Oh,  yes,"  continued  the  doctor,  with  an  ironical 
smile,  "  this  fellow  managed  his  part  to  admiration.  But  what 
shall  we  say  of  that  committee,  who,  both  through  ignorance 
and  will,  have  thus  betrayed  their  trust  ?  And,  furthermore, 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  people  of  that  village,  who  so  blindly 
conferred  that  important  trust  on  such  men  ?  But  we  may 
spare  words ;  for  the  employment  of  this  impostor  will  fall  as  a 
judgment  on  their  children,  in  the  shape  of  errors  imbibed,  that 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  MILL    TOWN  EMPORIUM      351 

will  sufficiently  punish  these  people  for  their  unpardonable 
•blindness  and  folly.  And  I  will  here  tell  you,  Mr.  Amsden,  we 
have  more  to  do  in  improving  the  condition  of  our  common 
schools  than  to  increase  the  number  of  qualified  teachers.  We 
have  got  to  appoint  managing  committees  who  are  qualified 
to  discover  and  appreciate  them.  But  enough  of  this ;  where 
do  you  think  of  looking  for  a  school  now,  my  dear  sir  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  where  to  look,  or  what  to  do,"  replied  Locke, 
despondingly.  "  I  am  poor,  and  need,  particularly  at  this  time, 
the  amount  of  what  would  be  respectable  wages.  But  our 
country  schools  afford  so  little  remuneration ;  and  as  for  the 
villages,  you  see  what  my  success  is  with  them." 

"  Don't  despair  quite  so  soon,  sir,"  said  Lincoln,  a  little 
roguishly ;  "  you  may  find  some  men  in  other  villages  of  a 
little  larger  pattern  than  that  of  the  learned  trio  you  just  en- 
countered. What  say  you  to  coming  to  Cartersville  and  taking 
the  school  in  the  district  where  I  live  ?  " 

"  I  would,"  replied  Locke,  "  if  you  were  to  be  the  examining 
committee." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  "  for  all  the  examina- 
tion I  shall  want  of  you." 

"  How  am  I  to  take  you,  sir  ? "  asked  the  former  with  a 
doubtful  air. 

"  Why,  that,  as  it  strangely  happens,  I  am  sole  committee 
myself,"  answered  the  doctor. 


CHARLES    DICKENS 

1812-187O 

CHARLES  DICKENS  was  born  at  Landport,  in  Portsea,  England,  in 
1812.  His  father  was  at  that  time  a  clerk  in  the  marine  service,  and 
subsequently  became  a  reporter  of  debates  in  Parliament.  The  greater 
part  of  the  life  of  the  great  novelist  was  spent  in  London,  and  no  man 
was  ever  more  fully  and  intimately  acquainted  with  the  myriad  phases 
of  life  in  the  world's  metropolis.  Glimpses  of  the  early  years  of 
Dickens  are  found  in  his  novels,  particularly  in  "David  Copperfield." 
In  his  young  manhood  he  studied  law — to  please  his  father,  but  soon 
abandoned  the  attorney's  office  to  become  a  reporter  for  the  press.  In 
this  capacity  he  studied  human  life  and  character  from  observation. 
' '  Sketches  by  Boz, "  in  the  Chronicle,  first  brought  him  reputation  as 
an  author.  "The  Pickwick  Papers,"  "Nicholas  Nickleby,"  "Oliver 
Twist,"  "Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  and  "  Barnaby  Budge  "  followed;  and 
when,  in  1842,  Dickens  made  a  visit  to  the  United  States,  he  was  a  rec- 
ognized star  in  the  literary  firmament.  The  "  American  Notes  "  and 
"Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  which  soon  afterward  appeared,  were  not  very 
favorable  to  Americans.  Mr.  Dickens  established  in  London  the  Daily 
News,  from  which  he  soon  retired,  and,  later,  he  became  the  editor 
of  Household  Words,  which  developed  into  All  The  Year  Round.  In 
this  his  later  novels  appeared,  as  serials.  In  1867  he  re-visited  America, 
and  was  cordially  received.  Among  his  greater  works  are  "Dombey 
and  Son,"  "David  Copperfield,"  "Bleak  House,"  "Little  Dorrit," 
"  Our  Mutual  Friend,"  "A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,"  and  "The  Mystery  of 
Edwin  Drood."  The  latter  was  unfinished  when  the  author  died, 
worn  out  by  overwork.  The  end  came  in  1870. 

Characterization 

As  for  the  charities  of  Mr.  Dickens,  multiplied  kindnesses  which  he 
has  conferred  upon  us,  all,  upon  our  children,  upon  people  educated 
and  uneducated,  upon  the  myriads  who  speak  our  common  tongue, 
have  not  you,  have  not  I,  all  of  iis,  reason  to  be  thankful  to  this  kind 
friend,  who  soothed  and  charmed  so  many  hours,  brought  pleasure 
and  laughter  to  so  many  homes,  made  such  multitudes  of  children 
happy,  endowed  us  with  such  a  sweet  store  of  gracious  thoughts,  fair 
352 


DR.    BLIMBEWS  SCHOOL  853 

fancies,  soft  sympathies,  hearty  enjoyments  ?  .  .  .  I  may  quarrel 
with  Mr.  Dickens's  art  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times ;  I  delight  and 
wonder  at  his  genius ;  I  recognize  in  it — I  speak  with  awe  and  reverence 
— a  commission  from  that  Divine  Beneficence  whose  blessed  task  we 
know  it  will  one  day  be  to  wipe  every  tear  from  every  eye.  Thank- 
fully I  take  my  share  of  the  feast  of  love  and  kindness  which  this 
gentle  and  generous  and  charitable  soul  has  contributed  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  world.  I  take  and  enjoy  my  share,  and  say  a  benediction 
for  the  meal.  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 

Were  all  his  books  swept  by  some  intellectual  catastrophe  out  of 
the  world,  there  would  still  exist  in  the  world  some  score,  at  least,  of 
people — with  all  those  ways  and  sayings  we  are  more  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  than  with  those  of  our  brothers  and  sis'ters, — who  would 
owe  to  him  their  being.  While  we  live  and  while  our  children  live, 
Sam  Weller  and  Dick  Swiveller,  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  Mrs.  Gamp,  the 
Micawbers  and  the  Squeerses,  can  never  die.  .  .  .  They  are  more 
real  than  we  are  ourselves,  and  will  outlive  and  outlast  us  as  they 
have  outlived  their  creator.  This  is  the  one  proof  of  genius  which  no 
critic,  not  the  most  carping  or  dissatisfied,  can  gainsay. 

"BLACKWOOD'S  MAGAZINE." 

Dr.    Blimber's  School 

(From  "  Dombey  and  Son  ") 

Whenever  a  young  gentleman  was  taken  in  hand  by  Doctor 
Blimber,  he  might  consider  himself  sure  of  a  pretty  tight 
squeeze.  The  Doctor  only  undertook  the  charge  of  ten  young 
gentlemen,  but  he  had,  always  ready,  a  supply  of  learning  for 
a  hundred,  on  the  lowest  estimate ;  and  it  was  at  once  the 
business  and  delight  of  his  life  to  gorge  the  unhappy  ten 
with  it. 

In  fact,  Doctor  Blimber's  establishment  was  a  great  hot-house, 
in  which  there  was  a  forcing  apparatus  incessantly  at  work. 
All  the  boys  blew  before  their  time.  Mental  green  peas  were 
produced  at  Christmas,  and  intellectual  asparagus  all  the  year 
round.  Mathematical  gooseberries  (very  sour  ones  too)  were 
common  at  untimely  seasons,  and'  from  mere  sprouts  of  bushes, 
under  Dr.  Blimber's  cultivation.  Every  description  of  Greek 
and  Latin  vegetable  was  got  off  the  driest  twigs  of  boys,  under 
s.  M.— 23 


354  CHARLES  DICKENS 

the  frostiest  circumstances.  Nature  was  of  no  consequence  at 
all.  No  matter  what  a  young  gentleman  was  intended  to  bear, 
Doctor  Blimber  made  him  bear  to  pattern,  somehow  or  other. 

This  was  all  very  pleasant  and  ingenious,  but  the  system  of 
forcing  was  attended  with  its  usual  disadvantages.  There  was 
not  the  right  taste  about  the  premature  productions,  and  they 
didn't  keep  well.  Moreover,  one  young  gentleman,  with  a 
swollen  nose  and  an  excessively  large  head  (the  oldest  of  the 
ten,  who  had  "gone  through"  everything),  suddenly  left  off 
blowing  one  day,  and  remained  in  the  establishment  a  mere 
stalk.  And  people  did  say  that  the  Doctor  had  rather  over- 
done it  with  young  Toots,  and  that  when  he  began  to  have 
whiskers  he  left  off  having  brains. 

There  young  Toots  was,  at  any  rate ;  possessed  of  the  gruffest  of 
voices  and  the  shrillest  of  minds ;  sticking  ornamental  pins  into 
his  shirt,  and  keeping  a  ring  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  to  put  on 
his  little  finger  by  stealth,  when  the  pupils  went  out  walking  ; 
constantly  falling  in  love  by  sight  with  nursery-maids,  who  had 
no  idea  of  his  existence;  and  looking  at  the  gas-lighted  world 
over  the  little  iron  bars  in  the  left-hand  corner  window  of  the 
front  three  pairs  of  stairs,  after  bedtime,  like  a  greatly  over- 
grown cherub  who  had  sat  up  aloft  much  too  long. 

The  Doctor  was  a  portly  gentleman  in  a  suit  of  black,  with 
strings  at  his  knees,  and  stockings  below  them.  He  had  a 
bald  head,  highly  polished ;  a  deep  voice ;  and  a  chin  so  very 
double,  that  it  was  a  wonder  how  he  ever  managed  to  shave 
into  the  creases.  He  had  likewise  a  pair  of  little  eyes  that 
were  always  half  shut  up,  and  a  mouth  that  was  always  half 
expanded  into  a  grin,  as  if  he  had,  that  moment,  posed  a  boy, 
and  were  waiting  to  convict  him  from  his  own  lips.  Insomuch, 
that  when  the  Doctor  put  his  right  hand  into  the  breast  of  his 
coat,  and  with  his  other  hand  behind  him,  and  a  scarcely  per- 
ceptible wag  of  his  head,  made  the  commonest  observation  to 
a  nervous  stranger,  it  was  like  a  sentiment  from  the  Sphinx, 
and  settled  his  business. 

The  Doctor's  was  a  mighty  fine  house,  fronting  the  sea.     Not 


DE.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  355 

a  joyful  style  of  house  within,  but  quite  the  contrary.  Sad- 
colored  curtains,  whose  proportions  were  spare  and  lean,  hid 
themselves  despondently  behind  the  windows.  The  tables  and 
chairs  were  put  away  in  rows,  like  figures  in  a  sum ;  fires  were 
so  rarely  lighted  in  the  rooms  of  ceremony,  that  they  felt  like 
wells,  and  a  visitor  represented  the  bucket;  the  dining-room 
seemed  the  last  place  in  the  world  where  any  eating  or  drink- 
ing was  likely  to  occur ;  there  was  no  sound  through  all  the 
house  but  the  ticking  of  a  great  clock  in  the  hall,  which  made 
itself  audible  in  the  very  garrets  ;  arid  sometimes  a  dull  crying 
of  young  gentlemen  at  their  lessons,  like  the  murmurings  of  an 
assemblage  of  melancholy  pigeons. 

Miss  Blimber,  too,  although  a  slim  and  graceful  maid,  did 
no  soft  violence  to  the  gravity  of  the  house.  There  was  no 
light  nonsense  about  Miss  Blimber.  She  kept  her  hair  short 
and  crisp,  and  wore  spectacles.  She  was  dry  and  sandy  with 
working  in  the  graves  of  deceased  languages.  None  of  your 
live  languages  for  Miss  Blimber.  They  must  be  dead — stone 
dead — and  then  Miss  Blimber  dug  them  up  like  a  Ghoul. 

Mrs.  Blimber,  her  mamma,  was  not  learned  herself,  but  she 
pretended  to  be,  and  that  did  quite  as  well.  She  said,  at  even- 
ing parties,  that  if  she  could  have  known  Cicero,  she  thought 
she  could  have  died  contented.  It  was  the  steady  joy  of  her 
life  to  see  the  Doctor's  young  gentlemen  go  out  walking,  unlike 
all  other  young  gentlemen,  in  the  largest  possible  shirt  collars 
and  the  stiffest  possible  cravats.  It  was  so  classical,  she  said. 

As  to  Mr.  Feeder,  B.A.,  Doctor  Blimber's  assistant,  he  was  a 
kind  of  human  barrel-organ,  with  a  little  list  of  tunes  at  which 
he  was  continually  working,  over  and  over  again,  without  any 
variation.  He  might  have  been  fitted  up  with  a  change  of 
barrels,  perhaps,  in  early  life,  if  his  destiny  had  been  favor- 
able ;  but  it  had  not  been ;  and  he  had  only  one,  with  which, 
in  a  monotonous  round,  it  was  his  occupation  to  bewilder  the 
young  ideas  of  Doctor  Blimber's  young  gentlemen.  The  young 
gentlemen  were  prematurely  full  of  carking  anxieties.  They 
knew  no  rest  from  the  pursuit  of  stony-hearted  verbs,  savage 


356  CHARLES  DICKENS 

noun-substantives,  inflexible  syntactic  passages,  and  ghosts  of 
exercises  that  appeared  to  them  in  their  dreams.  Under  the 
forcing  system,  a  young  gentleman  usually  took  leave  of  his 
spirits  in  three  weeks.  He  had  all  the  cares  of  the  world  on 
his  head  in  three  months.  He  conceived  bitter  sentiments 
against  his  parents  or  guardians  in  four ;  he  was  an  old  misan- 
thrope in  five;,  en  vied  Curtius  that  blessed  refuge  in  the  earth 
in  six;  and  at  the  end  of  the  first  twelvemonth  had  arrived 
at  the  conclusion,  from  which  he  never  afterward  departed, 
that  all  the  fancies  of  the  poets,  and  lessons  of  the  sages,  were 
a  mere  collection  of  words  and  grammar,  and  had  no  other 
meaning  in  the  world. 

But  he  went  on,  blow,  blow,  blowing,  in  the  Doctor's  hot-house, 
all  the  time ;  and  the  Doctor's  glory  and  reputation  were  great 
when  he  took  his  wintry  growth  home  to  his  relations  and 
friends. 

Upon  the  Doctor's  door-steps,  one  day,  Paul  stood  with  a 
fluttering  heart,  and  with  his  small  right  hand  in  his  father's. 
His  other  hand  was  locked  in  that  of  Florence.  How  tight  the 
tiny  pressure  of  that  one ;  and  how  loose  and  cold  the  other ! 

Mrs.  Pipchin  hovered  behind  the  victim,  with  her  sable  plum- 
age and  her  hooked  beak,  like  a  bird  of  ill  omen.  She  was  out 
of  breath — for  Mr.  Dombey,  full  of  great  thoughts,  had  walked 
fast — and  she  croaked  hoarsely  as  she  waited  for  the  opening  of 
the  door. 

"  Now,  Paul,"  said  Mr.  Dombey  exultingly,  "  this  is  the  way 
indeed  to  be  Dombey  and  Son,  and  have  money.  You  are 
almost  a  man  already." 

"  Almost,"  returned  the  child. 

Even  his  childish  agitation  could  not  master  the  sly  and 
quaint,  yet  touching  look  with  which  he  accompanied  the 
reply. 

It  brought  a  vague  expression  of  dissatisfaction  into  Mr. 
Dombey's  face ;  but,  the  door  being  opened,  it  was  quickly 
gone. 

"  Doctor  Blimber  is  at  home,  I  believe  ?  "  said  Mr.  Dombey. 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  357 

The  man  said  yes ;  and,  as  they  passed  in,  looked  at  Paul  as 
if  he  were  a  little  mouse,  and  the  house  were  a  trap.  He  was 
a  weak-eyed  young  man,  with  the  first  faint  streaks  or  early 
dawn  of  a  grin  on  his  countenance.  It  was  mere  imbecility ; 
but  Mrs.  Pipchin  took  it  into  her  head  that  it  was  impudence, 
and  made  a  snap  at  him  directly. 

"  How  dare  you  laugh  behind  the  gentleman's  back  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Pipchin.  "  And  what  do  you  take  me  for?  " 

"  I  ain't  a  laughing  at  nobody,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  take  you 
for  nothing,  ma'am ! "  returned  the  young  man  in  consterna- 
tion. 

"  A  pack  of  idle  dogs ! "  said  Mrs.  Pipchin,  "  only  fit  to  be 
turnspits.  Go  and  tell  your  master  that  Mr.  Dombey's  here,  or 
it'll  be  worse  for  you  ! " 

The  weak-eyed  young  man  went,  very  meekly,  to  discharge 
himself  of  this  commission ;  and  soon  came  back  to  invite  them 
to  the  Doctor's  study. 

"  You're  laughing  again,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Pipchin,  when  it  came 
to  her  turn,  bringing  up  the  rear,  to  pass  him  in  the  hall. 

"  I  ain't,"  returned  the  young  man,  grievously  oppressed.  "  I 
never  see  such  a  thing  as  this !  "  • 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Pipchin  ?  "  said  Mr.  Dombey,  look- 
ing round.  "  Softly  !  Pray  !  " 

Mrs.  Pipchin,  in  her  deference,  merely  muttered  at  the  young 
man  as  she  passed  on,  and  said,  "  Oh !  he  was  a  precious  fel- 
low " — leaving  the  young  man,  who  was  all  meekness  and 
incapacity,  affected  even  to  tears  by  the  incident.  But  Mrs. 
Pipchin  had  a  way  of  falling  foul  of  all  meek  people ;  and 
her  friends  said,  who  could  wonder  at  it,  after  the  Peruvian 
mines  ? 

The  Doctor  was  sitting  in  his  portentous  study,  with  a  globe 
at  each  knee,  books  all  round  him,  Homer  over  the  door,  and 
Minerva  on  the  mantel-shelf.  "And  how  do  you  do,  sir?  "  he 
said  to  Mr.  Dombey,  "  and  how  is  my  little  friend  ?  "  Grave 
as  an  organ  was  the  Doctor's  speech ;  and  when  he  ceased,  the 
great  clock  in  the  hall  seemed  (to  Paul  at  least)  to  take  him 


358  CHARLES  DICKENS 

up,  and  to  go  on  saying,  "  How,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend  ?  "  How, 
is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend?  "  over  and  over  and  over  again. 

The  little  friend  being  somewhat  too  small  to  be  seen  at  all 
from  where  the  Doctor  sat,  over  the  books  on  his  table,  the 
Doctor  made  several  futile  attempts  to  get  a  view  of  him  round 
the  legs:  which  Mr.  Dombey  perceiving,  relieved  the  Doctor 
from  his  embarrassment  by  taking  Paul  up  in  his  arms,  and 
sitting  him  on  another  little  table,  over  against  the  Doctor,  in 
the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Ha ! "  said  the  Doctor,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  his 
hand  in  his  breast.  "  Now  I  see  my  little  friend.  How  do  you 
do,  my  little  friend  ?  " 

The  clock  in  the  hall  wouldn't  subscribe  to  this  alteration  in 
the  form  of  words,  but  continued  to  repeat  "  How,  is,  my,  lit, 
tie,  friend?  how,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend?" 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  returned  Paul,  answering  the 
clock  quite  as  much  as  the  Doctor. 

"  Ha ! "  said  Doctor  Blimber.  "  Shall  we  make  a  man  of 
him?" 

"  Do  you  hear,  Paul  ? "  added  Mr.  Dombey ;  Paul  being 
silent. 

"  Shall  we  make  a  man  of  him  ?  "  repeated  the  Doctor. 

"  I  had  rather  be  a  child,"  replied  Paul. 

"  Indeed !  "  said  the  Doctor.     "  Why  ?  " 

The  child  sat  on  the  table  looking  at  him,  with  a  curious 
expression  of  suppressed  emotion  in  his  face,  and  beating  one 
hand  proudly  on  his  knee,  as  if  he  had  the  rising  tears  beneath 
it,  and  crushed  them.  But  his  other  hand  strayed  a  little 
way  the  while,  a  little  further — further  from  him  yet — until 
it  lighted  on  the  neck  of  Florence.  "  This  is  why,"  it  seemed 
to  say,  and  then  the  steady  look  was  broken  up  and  gone ;  the 
working  lip  was  loosened  ;  and  the  tears  came  streaming  forth. 

"  Mrs.  Pipchin,"  said  his  father  in  a  querulous  manner,  "  I 
am  really  very  sorry  to  see  this." 

"  Come  away  from  him,  do,  Miss  Dombey,"  quoth  the  matron. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  Doctor,  blandly  nodding  his  head  to 


DR.    BLIMBER  >S  SCHOOL  359 

keep  Mrs.  Pipchin  back.  "Ne-ver  mind;  we  shall  substitute 
new  cares  and  new  impressions,  Mr.  Dombey,  very  shortly. 
You  would  still  wish  my  little  friend  to  acquire " 

"  Everything,  if  you  please,  Doctor,"  returned  Mr.  Dombey 
firmly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  who,  with  his  half-shut  eyes  and  his 
usual  smile,  seemed  to  survey  Paul  with  the  sort  of  interest 
that  might  attach  to  some  choice  little  animal  he  was  going  to 
stuff.  "  Yes,  exactly.  Ha  !  We  shall  impart  a  great  variety 
of  information  to  our  little  friend,  and  bring  him  quickly  for- 
ward, I  dare  say.  I  dare  say.  Quite  a  virgin  soil,  I  believe 
you  said,  Mr.  Dombey  ?  " 

"  Except  some  ordinary  preparation  at  home,  and  from  this 
lady,"  replied  Mr.  Dombey,  introducing  Mrs.  Pipchin,  who 
instantly  communicated  a  rigidity  to  her  whole  muscular  sys- 
tem, and  snorted  defiance  beforehand,  in  case  the  doctor  should 
disparage  her ;  "  except  so  far,  Paul  has,  as  yet,  applied  him- 
self to  no  studies  at  all." 

Doctor  Blimber  inclined  his  head,  in  gentle  tolerance  of  such 
insignificant  poaching  as  Mrs.  Pipchin's,  and  said  he  was  glad 
to  hear  it.  It  was  much  more  satisfactory,  he  observed,  rubbing 
his  hands,  to  begin  at  the  foundation.  And  again  he  leered  at 
Paul,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  tackle  him  with  the  Greek 
alphabet  on  the  spot. 

"That  circumstance,  indeed,  Doctor  Blimber,"  pursued  Mr. 
Dombey,  glancing  at  his  little  son,  "  and  the  interview  I  have 
already  had  the  pleasure  of  holding  with  you,  render  any  fur- 
ther explanation,  and  consequently,  any  further  intrusion  on 
your  valuable  time,  so  unnecessary,  that " 

"  Now,  Miss  Dombey ! "  said  the  acid  Pipchin. 

"  Permit  me,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  one  moment.  Allow  me  to 
present  Mrs.  Blimber  and  my  daughter,  who  will  be  associated 
with  the  domestic  life  of  our  young  Pilgrim  to  Parnassus.  Mrs. 
Blimber," — for  the  lady,  who  had  perhaps  been  in  waiting, 
opportunely  entered,  followed  by  her  daughter,  that  fair  sexton 
in  spectacles, — "  Mr.  Dombey.  My  daughter  Cornelia,  Mr.  Dora- 


360  CHARLES  DICKENS 

bey.  Mr.  Dombey,  my  love,"  pursued  the  Doctor,  turning  to 
his  wife,  "  is  so  confiding  as  to — Do  you  see  our  little  friend  ?  " 

Mrs.  Blimber,  in  an  excess  of  politeness,  of  which  Mr.  Dom- 
bey was  the  object,  apparently  did  not,  for  she  was  backing 
against  the  little  friend,  and  very  much  endangering  his  posi- 
tion on  the  table.  But,  on  this  hint,  she  turned  to  admire  his 
classical  and  intellectual  lineaments,  and  turning  again  to  Mr. 
Dombey,  said,  with  a  sigh,  that  she  envied  his  dear  son. 

"  Like  a  bee,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber,  with  uplifted  eyes,  "  about 
to  plunge  into  a  garden  of  the  choicest  flowers,  and  sip  the  sweets 
for  the  first  time.  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  Terence,  Plautus,  Cicero. 
What  a  world  of  honey  have  we  here !  It  may  appear  remark- 
able, Mr.  Dombey,  in  one  who  is  a  wife — the  wife  of  such  a  hus- 
band  " 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Doctor  Blimber.     "  Fie  for  shame !  " 

"  Mr.  Dombey  will  forgive  the  partiality  of  a  wife,"  said  Mrs. 
Blimber  with  an  engaging  smile. 

Mr.  Dombey  answered,  "  Not  at  all ;  "  applying  those  words, 
it  is  to  be  presumed,  to  the  partiality,  and  not  to  the  forgiveness. 

"  — And  it  may  seem  remarkable  in  one  who  is  a  mother 
also — "  resumed  Mrs.  Blimber. 

"  And  such  a  mother,"  observed  Mr.  Dombey,  bowing  with 
some  confused  idea  of  being  complimentary  to  Cornelia. 

"  But  really,"  pursued  Mrs.  Blimber,  "  I  think  if  I  could  have 
known  Cicero,  and  been  his  friend,  and  talked  with  him  in  his 
retirement  at  Tusculum  (beau-ti-ful  Tusculum !),  I  could  have 
died  contented." 

A  learned  enthusiasm  is  so  very  contagious,  that  Mr.  Dom- 
bey half  believed  this  was  exactly  his  case  ;  and  even  Mrs. 
Pipchin,  who  was  not,  as  we  have  seen,  of  an  accommodating 
disposition  generally,  gave  utterance  to  a  little  sound 'between 
a  groan  and  a  sigh,  as  if  she  would  have  said  that  nobody 
but  Cicero  could  have  proved  a  lasting  consolation  under  that 
failure  of  the  Peruvian  mines,  but  that  he  indeed  would  have 
been  a  very  Davy-lamp  of  refuge. 

Cornelia  looked  at  Mr.  Dombey  through  her  spectacles  as  if 


DR.    BLIMBER^  8  SCHOOL  361 

she  would  have  liked  to  crack  a  few  quotations  with  him  from 
the  authority  in  question.  But  this  design,  if  she  entertained 
it,  was  frustrated  by  a  knock  at  the  room -door. 

"Who  is  that?"  said  the  Doctor.  "Oh!  Come  in,  Toots ; 
come  in.  Mr.  Dombey,  sir."  Toots  bowed.  "  Quite  a  coinci- 
dence !  "  said  Doctor  Blimber.  "  Here  we  have  the  beginning 
and  the  end.  Alpha  and  Omega.  Our  head  boy,  Mr.  Dombey." 

The  Doctor  might  have  called  him  their  head-and-shoulders 
boy,  for  he  was  at  least  that  much  taller  than  any  of  the  rest. 
He  blushed  very  much  at  finding  himself  among  strangers, 
and  chuckled  aloud. 

"  An  addition  to  our  little  Portico,  Toots,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
"  Mr.  Dombey's  son." 

Young  Toots  blushed  again ;  and  finding,  from  a  solemn 
silence  which  prevailed,  that  he  was  expected  to  say  something, 
said  to'  Paul,  "  How  are  you  ?  "  in  a  voice  so  deep,  and  a  man- 
ner so  sheepish,  that  if  a  lamb  had  roared  it  couldn't  have  been 
more  surprising. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Feeder,  if  you  please,  Toots,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  to 
prepare  a  few  introductory  volumes  for  Mr.  Dombey's  son,  and 
to  allot  him  a  convenient  seat  for  study.  My  dear,  I  believe 
Mr.  Dombey  has  not  seen  the  dormitories." 

"  If  Mr.  Dombey  will  walk  upstairs,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber,  "  I 
shall  be  more  than  proud  to  show  him  the  dominions  of  the 
drowsy  god." 

With  that  Mrs.  Blimber,  who  was  a  lady  of  great  suavity, 
and  a  wiry  figure,  and  who  wore  a  cap  composed  of  sky-blue 
materials,  proceeded  upstairs  with  Mr.  Dombey  and  Cornelia ; 
Mrs.  Pipchin  following,  and  looking  out  sharp  for  her  enemy, 
the  footman. 

While  they  were  gone,  Paul  sat  upon  the  table,  holding 
Florence  by  the  hand,  and  glancing  timidly  from  the  Doctor 
round  and  round  the  room,  while  the  Doctor,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  with  his  hand  in  his  breast  as  usual,  held  a  book  from 
him  at  arm's  length,  and  read.  There  was  something  very 
awful  in  this  manner  of  reading.  It  was  such  a  determined> 


362  CHARLES  DICKENS 

unimpassioned,  inflexible,  cold-blooded  way  of  going  to  work. 
It  left  the  Doctor's  countenance  exposed  to  view ;  and  when  the 
Doctor  smiled  auspiciously  at  his  author,  or  knit  his  brows,  or 
shook  his  head  and  made  wry  faces  at  him  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Don't  tell  me,  sir ;  I  know  better,"  it  was  terrific. 

Toots,  too,  had  no  business  to  be  outside  the  door,  ostenta- 
tiously examining  the  wheels  in  his  watch,  and  counting  his 
half-crowns.  But  that  didn't  last  long ;  for  Doctor  Blimber, 
happening  to  change  the  position  of  his  tight  plump  legs,  as  if 
he  were  going  to  get  up,  Toots  swiftly  vanished,  and  appeared 
no  more. 

Mr.  Dombey  and  his  conductress  were  soon  heard  coming 
down-stairs  again,  talking  all  the  way ;  and  presently  they 
re-entered  the  Doctor's  study. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Dombey,"  said  the  Doctor,  laying  down  his 
book,  "  that  the  arrangements  meet  your  approval  ?  " 

"  They  are  excellent,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dombey. 

"  Very  fair  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Pipdhin,  in  a  low  voice ;  never 
disposed  to  give  too  much  encouragement. 

"  Mrs.  Pipchin,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  wheeling  round,  "  will, 
with  your  permission,  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Blimber,  visit  Paul  now 
and  then." 

"  Whenever  Mrs.  Pipchin  phases,"  observed  the  Doctor. 

"  Always  happy  to  see  her,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  "  I  have  given  all  the  trouble 
I  need,  and  may  take  my  leave.  Paul,  my  child," — he  went 
close  to  him,  as  he  sat  upon  the  table, — "  good-by." 

"  Good-by,  papa." 

The  limp  and  careless  little  hand  that  Mr.  Dombey  took  in 
his  was  singularly  out  of  keeping  with  the  wistful  face.  But  he 
had  no  part  in  its  sorrowful  expression.  It  was  not  addressed 
to  him.  No,  no.  To  Florence — all  to  Florence. 

If  Mr.  Dombey,  in  his  insolence  of  wealth,  had  ever  made  an 
enemy,  hard  to  appease  and  cruelly  vindictive  in  his  hate,  even 
such  an  enemy  might  have  received  the  pang  that  wrung  his 
proud  heart  then  as  compensation  for  his  injury. 


DR.    BLIMBEWS  SCHOOL  363 

He  bent  down  over  his  boy,  and  kissed  him.  If  his  sight 
were  dimmed,  as  he  did  so,  by  something  that  for  a  moment 
blurred  the  little  face,  and  made  it  indistinct  to  him,  his  mental 
vision  may  have  been  for  that  short  time,  the  clearer,  perhaps. 

"  I  shall  see  you  soon,  Paul.  You  are  free  on  Saturdays  and 
Sundays,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  returned  Paul,  looking  at  his  sister.  "  On 
Saturdays  and  Sundays." 

"  And  you'll  try  and  learn  a  great  deal  here,  and  be  a  clever 
man,"  said  Mr.  Dombey  ;  "  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  try,"  returned  the  child  wearily. 

"  And  you'll  soon  be  grown  up  now !  "  said  Mr.  Dombey. 

"  Oh  !  very  soon  !  "  replied  the  child.  Once  more  the  old, 
old  look  passed  rapidly  across  his  features  like  a  strange  light. 
It  fell  on  Mrs.  Pipchin,  and  extinguished  itself  in  her  black 
dress.  That  excellent  ogress  stepped  forward  to  take  leave  and 
to  bear  off  Florence,  which  she  had  long  been  thirsting  to  do. 
The  move  on  her  part  roused  Mr.  Dombey,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed  on  Paul.  After  patting  him  on  the  head,  and  pressing 
his  small  hand  again,  he  took  leave  of  Doctor  Blimber,  Mrs. 
Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber  with  his  usual  polite  frigidity,  and 
walked  out  of  the  study. 

Despite  his  entreaty  that  they  would  not  think  of  stirring, 
Doctor  Blimber,  Mrs.  Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber  all  pressed 
forward  to  attend  him  to  the  hall ;  and  thus  Mrs.  Pipchin  got 
into  a  state  of  entanglement  with  Miss  Blimber  and  the  Doctor, 
and  was  crowded  out  of  the  study  before  she  could  clutch  Flor- 
ence. To  which  happy  accident  Paul  stood  afterward  indebted 
for  the  dear  remembrance,  that  Florence  ran  back  to  throw  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  that  hers  was  the  last  face  in  the  door- 
way, turned  toward  him  with  a  smile  of  encouragement,  the 
brighter  for  the  tears  through  which  it  beamed. 

It  made  his  childish  bosom  heave  and  swell  when  it  was 
gone;  and  sent  the  globes,  the  books,  blind  Homer,  and 
Minerva  swimming  round  the  room.  But  they  stopped  all  of 
a  sudden ;  and  then  he  heard  the  loud  clock  in  the  hall  still 


364  CHARLES  DICKENS 

gravely  inquiring,  "  How,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend  ?  how,  is,  my, 
lit,  tie,  friend  ?  "  as  it  had  done  before. 

He  sat,  with  folded  hands,  upon  his  pedestal,  silently  listen- 
ing. But  he  might  have  answered,  "  Weary,  weary !  very 
lonely,  very  sad ! "  And  there,  with  an  aching  void  in  his 
young  heart,  and  all  outside  so  cold,  and  bare,  and  strange, 
Paul  sat  as  if  he  had  taken  life  unfurnished,  and  the  uphol- 
sterer were  never  coming. 

After  the  lapse  of  some  minutes,  which  appeared  an  immense 
time  to  little  Paul  Dombey  on  the  table,  Doctor  Blimber  came 
back.  The  Doctor's  walk  was  stately,  and  calculated  to  impress 
the  juvenile  mind  with  solemn  feelings.  It  was  a  sort  of 
march ;  but  when  the  Doctor  put  out  his  right  foot,  he  gravely 
turned  upon  his  axis,  with  a  semi-circular  sweep  toward  the 
left ;  and  when  he  put  out  his  left  foot,  he  turned  in  the  same 
manner  toward  the  right.  So  that  he  seemed,  at  every  stride 
he  took,  to  look  about  him  as  though  he  were  saying,  "  Can 
anybody  have  the  goodness  to  indicate  any  subject,  in  any 
direction  on  which  I  am  uninformed  ?  I  rather  think  not." 

Mrs.  Blimber  and  Miss  Blimber  came  back  in  the  Doctor's 
company ;  and  the  Doctor,  lifting  his  new  pupil  off  the  table, 
delivered  him  over  to  Miss  Blimber. 

"  Cornelia,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  Dombey  will  be  your  charge 
at  first.  Bring  him  on,  Cornelia,  bring  him  on." 

Miss  Blimber  received  her  young  ward  from  the  Doctor's 
hands;  and  Paul,  feeling  that  the  spectacles  were  surveying 
him,  cast  down  his  eyes. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Dombey  ?  "  said  Miss  Blimber. 

"  Six,"  answered  Paul,  wondering,  as  he  stole  a  glance  at  the 
young  lady,  why  her  hair  didn't  grow  long  like  Florence's,  and 
why  she  was  like  a  boy. 

"  How  much  do  you  know  of  your  Latin  Grammar,  Dom- 
bey ?  "  said  Miss  Blimber. 

"  None  of  it,"  answered  Paul.  Feeling  that  the  answer  was  a 
shock  to  Miss  Blimber's  sensibility,  he  looked  up  at  the  three 
faces  that  were  looking  down  at  him,  and  said : 


DR.    BLIMBER1 8  SCHOOL  365 

"  I  haven't  been  well.  I  have  been  a  weak  child.  I  couldn't 
learn  a  Latin  Grammar  when  I  was  out,  every  day,  with  old 
Glubb.  I  wish  you'd  tell  old  Glubb  to  come  and  see  me,  if  you 
please." 

"  What  a  dreadfully  low  name !  "  said  Mrs.  Blimber.  "  Un- 
classical  to  a  degree !  Who  is  the  monster,  child  ?  " 

"  What  monster  ?  "  inquired  Paul. 

"  Glubb,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber,  with  a  great  disrelish. 

"  He's  no  more  a  monster  than  you  are,"  returned  Paul. 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Doctor  in  a  terrible  voice.  "  Ay,  ay,  ay  ? 
Aha!  What's  that?" 

Paul  was  dreadfully  frightened ;  but  still  he  made  a  stand 
for  the  absent  Glubb,  though  he  did  it  trembling. 

"  He's  a  very  nice  old  man,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "  He  used  to 
draw  my  couch.  He  knows  all  about  the  deep  sea,  and  the 
fish  that  are  in  it,  and  the  great  monsters  that  come  and  lie  on 
rocks  in  the  sun,  and  dive  into  the  water  again  when  they're 
startled,  blowing  and  splashing  so,  that  they  can  be  heard  for 
miles.  There  are  some  creatures,"  said  Paul,  warming  with  his 
subject,  "  I  don't  know  how  many  yards  long,  and  I  forget  their 
names,  but  Florence  knows,  that  pretend  to  be  in  distress ;  and 
when  a  man  goes  near  them,  out  of  compassion,  they  open 
their  great  jaws,  and  attack  him.  But  all  he  has  got  to  do," 
said  Paul,  boldly  tendering  this  information  to  the  very  doctor, 
himself,  "  is  to  keep  on  turning  as  he  runs  away,  and  then,  as 
they  turn  slowly,  because  they  are  so  long,  and  can't  bend,  he's 
sure  to  beat  them.  And  though  old  Glubb  don't  know  why 
the  sea  should  make  me  think  of  my  mamma  that's  dead,  or 
what  it  is  that  it  is  always  saying — always  saying !  he  knows  a 
great  deal  about  it.  And  I  wish,"  the  child  concluded,  with  a 
sudden  falling  of  his  countenance,  and  failing  in  his  anima- 
tion, as  he  looked  like  one  forlorn  upon  the  three  strange  faces, 
"  that  you'd  let  old  Glubb  come  here  to  see  me,  for  I  know  him 
very  well,  and  he  knows  me." 

"  Ha ! "  said  the  Doctor,  shaking  his  head ;  "  this  is  bad,  but 
study  will  do  much." 


366  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Mrs.  Blimber  opined,  with  something  like  a  shiver,  that  he 
was  an  unaccountable  child ;  and,  allowing  for  the  difference 
of  visage,  looked  at  him  pretty  much  as  Mrs.  Pipchin  had  been 
used  to  do. 

"  Take  him  round  the  house,  Cornelia,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and 
familiarize  him  with  his  new  sphere.  Go  with  that  young 
lady,  Dombey." 

Dombey  obeyed :  giving  his  hand  to  abstruse  Cornelia,  and 
looking  at  her  sideways,  with  timid  curiosity,  as  they  went 
away  together.  For  her  spectacles,  by  reason  of  the  glistening 
of  the  glasses,  made  her  so  mysterious,  that  he  didn't  know 
where  she  was  looking,  and  was  not,  indeed,  quite  sure  that  she 
had  any  eyes  at  all  behind  them. 

Cornelia  took  him  first  to  the  schoolroom,  which  was  situated 
at  the  back  of  the  hall,  and  was  approached  through  two  baize 
doors,  which  deadened  and  muffled  the  young  gentlemen's 
voices.  Here  there  were  eight  young  gentlemen  in  various 
stages  of  mental  prostration,  all  very  hard  at  work,  and  very 
grave  indeed.  Toots,  as  an  old  hand,  had  a  desk  to  himself  in 
one  corner :  and  a  magnificent  man,  of  immense  age,  he  looked, 
in  Paul's  young  eyes  behind  it. 

Mr.  Feeder,  B.A.,  who  sat  at  another  little  desk,  had  his  Virgil 
stop  on,  and  was  slowly  grinding  that  tune  to  four  young  gen- 
tlemen. Of  the  remaining  four,  two,  who  grasped  their  fore- 
heads convulsively,  were  engaged  in  solving  mathematical 
problems :  one  with  his  face  like  a  dirty  window,  from  much 
crying,  was  endeavoring  to  flounder  through  a  hopeless  number 
of  lines  before  dinner ;  and  one  sat  looking  at  his  task  in  stony 
stupefaction  and  despair — which  it  seemed  had  been  his  con- 
dition ever  since  breakfast-time. 

The  appearance  of  a  new  boy  did  not  create  the  sensation 
that  might  have  been  expected.  Mr.  Feeder,  B.A.  (who  was  in 
the  habit  of  shaving  his  head  for  coolness,  and  had  nothing 
but  little  bristles  on  it),  gave  him  a  bony  hand,  and  told  him 
he  was  glad  to  see  him — which  Paul  would  have  been  very 
glad  to  have  told  him,  if  he  could  have  done  so  with  the  least 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  367 

sincerity.  Then  Paul,  instructed  by  Cornelia,  shook  hands 
with  the  four  young  gentlemen  at  Mr.  Feeder's  desk  ;  then  with 
the  two  young  gentlemen  at  work  on  the  problems,  who  were 
very  feverish ;  then  with  the  young  gentleman  at  work  against 
time,  who  was  very  inky ;  and  lastly,  with  the  young  gentle- 
man in  a  state  of  stupefaction,  who  was  flabby  and  quite 
cold. 

Paul  having  been  already  introduced  to  Toots,  that  pupil 
merely  chuckled  and  breathed  hard,  as  his  custom  was,  and 
pursued  the  occupation  in  which  he  was  engaged.  It  was  not 
a  severe  one ;  for,  on  account  of  his  having  "  gone  through  "  so 
much  (in  more  senses  than  one),  and  also  of  his  having,  as 
before  hinted,  left  off  blowing  in  his  prime,  Toots  now  had 
license  to  pursue  his  own  course  of  study ;  which  was  chiefly 
to  write  long  letters  to  himself  from  persons  of  distinction,  ad- 
dressed "  P.  Toots,  Esquire,  Brighton,  Sussex,"  and  to  preserve 
them  in  his  desk  with  great  care. 

These  ceremonies  passed,  Cornelia  led  Paul  upstairs  to  the 
top  of  the  house  ;  which  was  rather  a  slow  journey,  on  account 
of  Paul  being  obliged  to  land  both  feet  on  every  stair  before  he 
mounted  another.  But  they  reached  their  journey's  end  at 
last;  and  there  in  a  front  room,  looking  over  the  wild  sea, 
Cornelia  showed  him  a  nice  little  bed  with  white  hangings, 
close  to  the  window,  on  which  there  was  already  beautifully 
written  on  a  card  in  round  text — down  strokes  very  thick,  and 
up  strokes  very  fine — DOMBEY  ;  while  two  other  little  bedsteads 
in  the  same  room  were  announced,  through  like  means,  as 
respectively  appertaining  unto  BRIGGS  and  TOZER. 

Just  as  they  got  down-stairs  again  into  the  hall,  Paul  saw  the 
weak-eyed  young  man,  who  had  given  that  mortal  offense  to 
Mrs.  Pipchin,  suddenly  seize  a  very  large  drum-stick,  and  fly 
at  a  gong  that  was  hanging  up,  as  if  he  had  gone  mad,  or 
wanted  vengeance.  Instead  of  receiving  warning,  however,  or 
being  instantly  taken  into  custody,  the  young  man  left  off  un- 
checked, after  having  made  a  dreadful  noise.  Then  Cornelia 
Blimber  said  to  Dombey  that  dinner  would  be  ready  in  a  quar- 


368  CHARLES  DICKENS 

ter  of  an  hour,  and  perhaps  he  had  better  go  into  the  school- 
room among  his  "  friends." 

So  Dombey,  deferentially  passing  the  great  clock,  which  was 
still  as  anxious  as  ever  to  know  how  he  found  himself,  opened 
the  schoolroom  door  a  very  little  way,  and  strayed  in  like  a 
lost  boy :  shutting  it  after  him  with  some  difficulty.  His  friends 
were  all  dispersed  about  the  room  except  the  stony  friend,  who 
remained  immovable.  Mr.  Feeder  was  stretching  himself  in 
his  gray  gown,  as  if,  regardless  of  expense,  he  were  resolved  to 
pull  the  sleeves  off. 

"  Heigh  ho  hum  !  "  cried  Mr.  Feeder,  shaking  himself  like  a 
cart-horse.  "  Oh  dear  me,  dear  me !  Ya-a-a-ah !  " 

Paul  was  quite  alarmed  by  Mr.  Feeder's  yawning;  it  was 
done  on  such  a  great  scale,  and  he  was  so  terribly  in  earnest. 
All  the  boys,  too  (Toots  excepted),  seemed  knocked  up,  and  were 
getting  ready  for  dinner — some  newly  tying  their  neckcloths, 
which  were  very  stiff  indeed  ;  and  others  washing  their  hands, 
or  brushing  their  hair,  in  an  adjoining  ante-chamber — as  if 
they  didn't  think  they  should  enjoy  it  at  all. 

Young  Toots,  who  was  ready  beforehand,  and  had  therefore 
nothing  to  do,  and  had  leisure  to  bestow  upon  Paul,  said,  with 
heavy  good-nature  : 

"  Sit  down,  Dombey." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Paul. 

His  endeavoring  to  hoist  himself  on  to  a  very  high  window- 
seat,  and  his  slipping  down  again,  appeared  to  prepare  Toots's 
mind  for  the  reception  of  a  discovery. 

"  You're  a  very  small  chap,"  said  Mr.  Toots. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'm  small,"  returned  Paul.     "  Thank  you,  sir." 

For  Toots  had  lifted  him  into  his  seat,  and  done  it  kindly  too. 

"  Who's  your  tailor  ?  "  inquired  Toots,  after  looking  at  him 
for  some  moments. 

"  It's  a  woman  that  has  made  my  clothes  as  yet,"  said  Paul. 
"  My  sister's  dressmaker." 

"  My  tailor's  Burgess  and  Co.,"  said  Toots.  "  Fash'nable. 
But  very  dear." 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  369 

Paul  had  wit  enough  to  shake  his  head,  as  if  he  would  have 
said  it  was  easy  to  see  that;  and,  indeed,  he  thought  so. 

"  Your  father's  regularly  rich,  ain't  he  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Toots. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Paul.     "  He's  Dombey  and  Son." 

"  And  which  ?  "  demanded  Toots. 

"  And  Son,  sir,"  replied  Paul. 

Mr.  Toots  made  one  or  two  attempts,  in  a  low  voice,  to  fix 
the  firm  in  his  mind ;  but  not  quite  succeeding,  said  he  would 
get  Paul  to  mention  the  name  again  to-morrow  morning,  as  it 
was  rather  important.  And,  indeed,  he  purposed  nothing  less 
than  writing  himself  a  private  and  confidential  letter  from 
Dombey  and  Son  immediately. 

By  this  time  the  other  pupils  (always  excepting  the  stony 
boy)  gathered  round.  They  were  polite,  but  pale ;  and  spoke 
low ;  and  they  were  so  depressed  in  their  spirits,  that,  in  com- 
parison with  the  general  tone  of  that  company,  Master  Either- 
stone  was  a  perfect  Miller,  or  complete  Jest  Book.  And  yet  he 
had  a  sense  of  injury  upon  him  too,  had  Bitherstone. 

"  You  sleep  in  my  room,  don't  you  ?  "  asked  a  solemn  young 
gentleman,  whose  shirt  collar  curled  up  the  lobes  of  his  ears. 

"  Master  Briggs  ?  "  inquired  Paul. 

"  Tozer,"  said  the  young  gentleman. 

Paul  answered  yes ;  and  Tozer,  pointing  out  the  stony  pupil, 
said  that  was  Briggs.  Paul  had  already  felt  certain  that  it 
must  be  either  Briggs  or  Tozer,  though  he  didn't  know  why. 

"  Is  yours  a  strong  constitution  ?  "  inquired  Tozer. 

Paul  said  he  thought  not.  Tozer  replied  that  he  thought  not 
also,  judging  from  Paul's  looks,  and  that  it  was  a  pity,  for  it 
need  be.  He  then  asked  Paul  if  he  were  going  to  begin  with 
Cornelia ;  and,  on  Paul  saying  "  Yes,"  all  the  young  gentlemen 
(Briggs  excepted)  gave  a  low  groan. 

It  was  drowned  in  the  tintinnabulation  of  the  gong,  which 
sounding  again  with  great  fury,  there  was  a  general  move 
toward  the  dining-room  ;  still  excepting  Briggs,  the  stony  boy, 
who  remained  where  he  was,  and  as  he  was ;  and  on  its  way  to 
whom  Paul  presently  encountered  a  round  of  bread,  genteely 
s.  M.— 24 


370  CHARLES  DICKENS 

served  on  a  plate  and  napkin,  and  with  a  silver  fork  lying 
crosswise  on  the  top  of  it.  Doctor  Blimber  was  already  in  his 
place  in  the  dining-room,  at  the  top  of  the  table,  with  Miss 
Blimber  and  Mrs.  Blimber  on  either  side  of  him.  Mr.  Feeder, 
in  a  black  coat,  was  at  the  bottom.  Paul's  chair  was  next  to 
Miss  Blimber ;  but  it  being  found,  when  he  sat  in  it,  that  his 
eyebrows  were  not  much  above  the  level  of  the  table-cloth,  some 
books  were  brought  in  from  the  Doctor's  study,  on  which  he 
was  elevated,  and  on  which  he  always  sat  from  that  time — 
carrying  them  in  and  out  himself,  on  after  occasions,  like  a 
little  elephant  and  castle. 

Grace  having  been  said  by  the  doctor,  dinner  began.  There 
was  some  nice  soup;  also  roast  meat,  boiled  meat,  vegetables, 
pie,  and  cheese.  Every  young  gentleman  had  a  massive  silver 
fork,  and  a  napkin ;  and  all  the  arrangements  were  stately  and 
handsome.  In  particular,  there  was  a  butler  in  a  blue  coat, 
and  bright  buttons,  who  gave  quite  a  winy  flavor  to  the  table 
beer;  he  poured  it  out  so  superbly. 

Nobody  spoke,  unless  spoken  to,  except  Doctor  Blimber, 
Mrs.  Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber,  who  conversed  occasionally. 
Whenever  a  young  gentleman  was  not  actually  engaged  with 
his  knife  and  fork  or  spoon,  his  eye,  with  an  irresistible  attrac- 
tion, sought  the  eye  of  Doctor  Blimber,  Mrs.  Blimber,  or  Miss 
Blimber,  and  modestly  rested  there.  Toots  appeared  to  be  the 
only  exception  to  this  rule.  He  sat  next  Mr.  Feeder,  on  Paul's 
side  of  the  table,  and  frequently  looked  behind  and  before  the 
intervening  boys  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Paul. 

Only  once  during  dinner  was  there  any  conversation  that 
included  the  young  gentlemen.  It  happened  at  the  epoch  of 
the  cheese,  when  the  Doctor,  having  taken  a  glass  of  port  wine, 
and  hemmed  twice  or  thrice,  said : 

"  It  is  remarkable,  Mr.  Feeder,  that  the  Romans " 

At  the  mention  of  this  terrible  people,  their  implacable  ene- 
mies, every  young  gentleman  fastened  his  gaze  upon  the 
Doctor,  with  an  assumption  of  the  deepest  interest.  One  of  the 
number,  who  happened  to  be  drinking,  and  who  caught  the 


DR.    BLIMBER' S  SCHOOL  371 

Doctor's  eye  glaring  at  him  through  the  side  of  his  tumbler,  left 
off  so  hastily  that  he  was  convulsed  for  some  moments,  and  in 
the  sequel  ruined  Doctor  Blimber's  point. 

"  It  is  remarkable,  Mr.  Feeder/'  said  the  Doctor,  beginning 
again  slowly,  "  that  the  Romans,  in  those  gorgeous  and  profuse 
entertainments  of  which  we  read  in  the  days  of  the  Emperors, 
when  luxury  had  attained  a  height  unknown  before  or  since, 
and  when  whole  provinces  were  ravaged  to  supply  the  splendid 
means  of  one  imperial  banquet " 

Here  the  offender,  who  had  been  swelling  and  straining,  and 
waiting  in  vain  for  a  full  stop,  broke  out  violently. 

"  Johnson,"  said  Mr.  Feeder  in  a  low,  reproachful  voice, 
"  take  some  water." 

The  Doctor,  looking  very  stern,  made  a  pause  until  the  water 
was  brought,  and  then  resumed  : 

"  And  when,  Mr.  Feeder 

But  Mr.  Feeder,  who  saw  that  Johnson  must  break  out  again, 
and  who  knew  that  the  Doctor  would  never  come  to  a  period 
before  the  young  gentlemen  until  he  had  finished  all  he  meant 
to  say,  couldn't  keep  his  eye  off  Johnson ;  and  thus  was  caught 
in  the  fact  of  not  looking  at  the  Doctor,  who  consequently 
stopped. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Feeder,  reddening.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Doctor  Blimber." 

"  And  when,"  said  the  Doctor,  raising  his  voice,  "  when,  sir, 
as  we  read,  and  have  no  reason  to  doubt — incredible  as  it  may 
appear  to  the  vulgar  of  our  time — the  brother  of  Vitellius  pre- 
pared for  him  a  feast,  in  which  were  served,  of  fish,  two  thou- 
sand dishes " 

"  Take  some  water,  Johnson — dishes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Feeder. 

"  Of  various  sorts  of  fowl,  five  thousand  dishes — 

"  Or  try  a  crust  of  bread,"  said  Mr.  Feeder. 

"  And  one  dish,"  pursued  Dr.  Blimber,  raising  his  voice 
still  higher  as  he  looked  all  round  the  table,  "  called,  from  its 
enormous  dimensions,  the  Shield  of  Minerva,  and  made,  among 
other  costly  ingredients,  of  the  brains  of  pheasants — 


372  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  Ow,  ow,  ow !  "  (from  Johnson). 

"  Woodcocks— 

"  Ow,  ow,  ow !  " 

"  The  sounds  of  the  fish  called  scari " 

"  You'll  burst  some  vessel  in  your  head,"  said  Mr.  Feeder. 
"  You  had  better  let  it  come." 

"  And  the  spawn  of  the  lamprey,  brought  from  the  Carpa- 
thian Sea,"  pursued  the  Doctor  in  his  severest  voice  ;  "  when  we 
read  of  costly  entertainments  such  as  these,  and  still  remember 
that  we  have  a  Titus " 

"  What  would  be  your  mother's  feelings  if  you  died  of  apo- 
plexy ?  "  said  Mr.  Feeder. 

"  A  Domitian— 

"  And  you're  blue,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Feeder. 

"  A  Nero,  a  Tiberius,  a  Caligula,  a  Heliogabulus,  and  many 
more,"  pursued  the  Doctor ;  "  it  is,  Mr.  Feeder — if  you  are  doing 
me  the  honor  to  attend — remarkable  ;  VERY  remarkable,  sir " 

But  Johnson,  unable  to  suppress  it  any  longer,  burst  at  that 
moment  into  such  an  overwhelming  fit  of  coughing,  that, 
although  both  his  immediate  neighbors  thumped  him  on  the 
back,  and  Mr.  Feeder  himself  held  a  glass  of  water  to  his  lips, 
and  the  butler  walked  him  up  and  down  several  times  between 
his  own  chair  and  the  sideboard,  like  a  sentry,  it  was  full  five 
minutes  before  he  was  moderately  composed,  and  then  there 
was  a  profound  silence. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Doctor  Blimber,  "  rise  for  Grace !  Corne- 
lia, lift  Dombey  down  " — nothing  of  whom  but  his  scalp  was 
accordingly  seen  above  the  table-cloth.  "  Johnson  will  repeat 
to  me  to-morrow  morning  before  breakfast,  without  book,  and 
from  the  Greek  Testament,  the  first  chapter  of  the  Epistle  of 
St.  Paul  to  the  Ephesians.  We  will  resume  our  studies,  Mr. 
Feeder,  in  half  an  hour." 

The  young  gentlemen  bowed  and  withdrew.  Mr.  Feeder  did 
likewise.  During  the  half-hour,  the  young  gentlemen,  broken 
into  pairs,  loitered  arm-in-arm  up  and  down  a  small  piece  of 
ground  behind  the  house,  or  endeavored  to  kindle  a  spark  of 


DR.   BLIMBER' S  SCHOOL  373 

animation  in  the  breast  of  Briggs.  But  nothing  happened  so 
vulgar  as  play.  Punctually  at  the  appointed  time  the  gong 
was  sounded,  and  the  studies,  under  the  joint  auspices  of  Doctor 
Blimber  and  Mr.  Feeder,  were  resumed. 

As  the  Olympic  game  of  lounging  up  and  down  had  been 
cut  shorter  than  usual  that  day,  on  Johnson's  account,  they  all 
went  out  for  a  walk  before  tea.  Even  Briggs  (though  he  hadn't 
begun  yet)  partook  of  this  dissipation ;  in  the  enjoyment  of 
which  he  looked  over  the  cliff  two  or  three  times  darkly. 
Doctor  Blimber  accompanied  them ;  and  Paul  had  the  honor  of 
being  taken  in  tow  by  the  Doctor  himself;  a  distinguished  state 
of  things,  in  which  he  looked  very  little  and  feeble. 

Tea  was  served  in  a  style  no  less  polite  than  the  dinner ;  and 
after  tea,  the  young  gentlemen,  rising  and  bowing  as  before, 
withdrew  to  fetch  up  the  unfinished  tasks  of  that  day,  or  to  get 
up  the  already  looming  tasks  of  to-morrow.  In  the  mean  time 
Mr.  Feeder  withdrew  to  his  own  room;  and  Paul  sat  in  a 
corner,  wondering  whether  Florence  was  thinking  of  him,  and 
what  they  were  all  about  at  Mrs.  Pipchin's. 

Mr.  Toots,  who  had  been  detained  by  an  important  letter 
from  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  found  Paul  out  after  a  time,  and 
having  looked  at  him  for  a  long  while,  as  before,  inquired  if  he 
was  fond  of  waistcoats. 

Paul  said  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Toots. 

No  word  more  spake  Toots  that  night ;  but  he  stood  looking 
at  Paul  as  if  he  liked  him ;  and  as  there  was  company  in  that, 
and  Paul  was  not  inclined  to  talk,  it  answered  his  purpose 
better  than  conversation. 

At  eight  o'clock  or  so,  the  gong  sounded  again  for  prayers  in 
the  dining-room,  where  the  butler  afterward  presided  over  a 
side-table,  on  which  bread  and  cheese  and  beer  were  spread  for 
such  young  gentlemen  as  desired  to  partake  of  those  refresh- 
ments. The  ceremonies  concluded  by  the  Doctor's  saying, 
"  Gentlemen,  we  will  resume  our  studies  at  seven  to-morrow :  " 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  Paul  saw  Cornelia  Blimber's  eye, 


374  CHARLES  DICKENS 

and  saw  that  it  was  upon  him.  When  the  Doctor  had  said 
these  words,  "  Gentlemen,  we  will  resume  our  studies  at  seven 
to-morrow,"  the  pupils  bowed  again,  and  went  to  bed. 

In  the  confidence  of  their  own  room  upstairs,  Briggs  said  his 
head  ached  ready  to  split,  and  that  he  should  wish  himself 
dead  if  it  wasn't  for  his  mother,  and  a  blackbird  he  had  at 
home.  Tozer  didn't  say  much,  but  he  sighed  a  good  deal,  and 
told  Paul  to  look  out,  for  his  turn  would  come  to-morrow. 
After  uttering  those  prophetic  words,  he  undressed  himself 
moodily,  and  got  into  bed.  Briggs  was  in  his  bed  too,  and 
Paul  in  his  bed  too,  before  the  weak-eyed  young  man  appeared 
to  take  away  the  candle,  when  he  wished  them  good-night  and 
pleasant  dreams.  But  his  benevolent  wishes  were  in  vain  as 
far  as  Briggs  and  Tozer  were  concerned;  for  Paul,  who  lay 
awake  for  a  long  while,  and  often  woke  afterward,  found  that 
Briggs  was  ridden  by  his  lesson  as  a  nightmare ;  and  that 
Tozer,  whose  mind  was  affected  in  his  sleep  by  similar  causes, 
in  a  minor  degree,  talked  unknown  tongues,  or  scraps  of  Greek 
and  Latin — it  was  all  one  to  Paul — which,  in  the  silence  of 
night,  had  an  inexpressibly  wicked  and  guilty  effect. 

Paul  had  sunk  into  a  sweet  sleep,  and  dreamed  that  he  was 
walking  hand  in  hand  with  Florence  through  beautiful  gar- 
dens, when  they  came  to  a  large  sunflower  which  suddenly 
expanded  itself  into  a  gong,  and  began  to  sound.  Opening  his 
eyes,  he  found  that  it  was  a  dark,  windy  morning,  with  a 
drizzling  rain ;  and  that  the  real  gong  was  giving  dreadful  note 
of  preparation  down  in  the  hall. 

So  he  got  up  directly,  and  found  Briggs  with  hardly  any 
eyes,  for  nightmare  and  grief  had  made  his  face  puffy,  putting 
his  boots  on;  while  Tozer  stood  shivering  and  rubbing  his 
shoulders  in  a  very  bad  humor.  Poor  Paul  couldn't  dress 
himself  easily,  not  being  used  to  it,  and  asked  them  if  they 
would  have  the  goodness  to  tie  some  strings  for  him  ;  but,-  as 
Briggs  merely  said  "  Bother !  "  and  Tozer,  "  Oh  yes  !  "  he  went 
down,  when  he  was  otherwise  ready,  to  the  next  story,  where  he 
saw  a  pretty  young  woman  in  leather  gloves,  cleaning  a  stove. 


DR.    BLIMBER' S  SCHOOL  375 

The  young  woman  seemed  surprised  at  his  appearance,  and 
asked  him  where  his  mother  was.  When  Paul  told  her  she 
was  dead,  she  took  her  gloves  off,  and  did  what  he  wanted ;  and 
furthermore  rubbed  his  hands  to  warm  them ;  and  gave  him 
a  kiss ;  and  told  him  whenever  he  wanted  anything  of  that 
sort — meaning  in  the  dressing  way — to  ask  for  'Melia ;  which 
Paul,  thanking  her  very  much,  said  he  certainly  would.  He 
then  proceeded  softly  on  his  journey  down-stairs,  toward  the 
room  in  which  the  young  gentlemen  resumed  their  studies, 
when,  passing  by  a  door  that  stood  ajar,  a  voice  from  within 
cried,  "  Is  that  Dombey  ?  "  .On  Paul  replying,  "  Yes,  ma'am ;  " 
for  he  knew  the  voice  to  be  Miss  Blimber's :  Miss  Blimber  said, 
"  Come  in,  Dombey."  And  in  he  went. 

Miss  Blimber  presented  exactly  the  appearance  she  had  pre- 
sented yesterday,  except  that  she  wore  a  shawl.  Her  little 
light  curls  were  as  crisp  as  ever,  and  she  had  already  her  spec- 
tacles on,  which  made  Paul  wonder  whether  she  went  to  bed  in 
them.  She  had  a  cool  little  sitting-room  of  her  own  up  there, 
with  some  books  in  it,  and  no  fire.  But  Miss  Blimber  was 
never  cold,  and  never  sleepy. 

"  Now,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  "  I'm  going  out  for  a 
constitutional." 

Paul  wondered  what  that  was,  and  why  she  didn't  send  the 
footman  out  to  get  it  in  such  unfavorable  weather.  But  he 
made  no  observation  on  the  subject ;  his  attention  being  de- 
voted to  a  little  pile  of  new  books,  on  which  Miss  Blimber 
appeared  to  have  been  recently  engaged. 

"  These  are  yours,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber. 

"  All  of  'em,  ma'am  ?  "  said  Paul. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Miss  Blimber ;  "  and  Mr.  Feeder  will  look 
you  out  some  more  very  soon,  if  you  are  as  studious  as  I  expect 
you  will  be,  Dombey." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Paul. 

"  I  am  going  out  for  a  constitutional,"  resumed  Miss  Blimber ; 
"  and  while  I  am  gone,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  interval  between 
this  and  breakfast,  Dombey,  I  wish  you  to  read  over  what  I 


376  CHARLES  DICKENS 

have  marked  in  these  books,  and  to  tell  me  if  you  quite  under- 
stand what  you  have  got  to  learn.  Don't  lose  time,  Dombey, 
for  you  have  none  to  spare,  but  take  them  down-stairs,  and 
begin  directly." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Paul. 

There  were  so  many  of  them,  that  although  Paul  put  one 
hand  under  the  bottom  book,  and  his  other  hand  and  his  chin 
on  the  top  book,  and  hugged  them  all  closely,  the  middle  book 
slipped  out  before  he  reached  the  door,  and  then  they  all 
tumbled  down  on  the  floor.  Miss  Blimber  said,  "  Oh,  Dombey, 
Dombey,  this  is  really  very  careless!"  and  piled  them  up  afresh 
for  him ;  and  this  time,  by  dint  of  balancing  them  with  great 
nicety,  Paul  got  out  of  the  room,  and  down  a  few  stairs,  before 
two  of  them  escaped  again.  But  he  held  the  rest  so  tight,  that 
he  only  left  one  more  on  the  first  floor,  and  one  in  the  passage  ; 
and  when  he  had  got  the  main  body  down  into  the  school- 
room, he  set  off  upstairs  again  to  collect  the  stragglers. 
Having  at  last  amassed  the  whole  library,  and  climbed  into  his 
place,  he  fell  to  work,  encouraged  by  a  remark  from  Tozer  to 
the  effect  that  he  "was  in  for  it  now ;  "  which  was  the  only 
interruption  he  received  till  breakfast-time.  At  that  meal,  for 
which  he  had  no  appetite,  everything  was  quite  as  solemn  and 
genteel  as  at  the  others ;  and  when  it  was  finished  he  followed 
Miss  Blimber  upstairs. 

"  Now,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  "  how  have  you  got  on 
with  those  books  ?  " 

They  comprised  a  little  English,  and  a  deal  of  Latin — names 
of  things,  declensions  of  articles  and  substantives,  exercises 
thereon,  and  preliminary  rules — a  trifle  of  orthography,  a  glance 
at  ancient  history,  a  wink  or  two  at  modern  ditto,  a  few  tables, 
two  or  three  weights  and  measures,  and  a  little  general  infor- 
mation. When  poor  Paul  had  spelt  out  number  two,  he  found 
he  had  no  idea  of  number  one ;  fragments  whereof  afterward 
obtruded  themselves  into  number  three,  which  slided  into 
number  four,  which  grafted  itself  on  to  number  two.  So  that 
whether  twenty  Romuluses  made  a  Remus,  or  hie  hasc  hoc  was 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  377 

troy  weight,  or  a  verb  always  agreed  with  an  ancient  Briton,  or 
three  times  four  was  Taurus  a  bull,  were  open  questions  with 
him. 

"  Oh,  Dombey,  Dombey ! "  said  Miss  Blimber,  "  this  is  very 
shocking." 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Paul,  "  I  think,  if  I  might  sometimes 
talk  a  little  to  old  Glubb,  I  should  be  able  to  do  better." 

"  Nonsense,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber.  "  I  couldn't  hear 
of  it.  This  is  not  the  place  for  Glubbs  of  any  kind.  You  must 
take  the  books  down,  I  suppose,  Dombey,  one  by  one,  and  per- 
fect yourself  in  the  day's  installment  of  subject  A,  before  you 
turn  at  all  to  subject  B.  And  now  take  away  the  top  book,  if 
you  please,  Dombey,  and  return  when  you  are  master  of  the 
theme." 

Miss  Blimber  expressed  her  opinions  on  the  subject  of  Paul's 
uninstructed  state  with  a  gloomy  delight,  as  if  she  had  expected 
this  result,  and  were  glad  to  find  that  they  must  be  in  constant 
communication.  Paul  withdrew  with  the  top  task,  as  he  was 
told,  and  labored  away  at  it  down  below :  sometimes  remem- 
bering every  word  of  it,  and  sometimes  forgetting  it  all,  and 
everything  else  besides:  until  at  last  he  ventured  upstairs 
again  to  repeat  the  lesson,  when  it  was  nearly  all  driven  out  of 
his  head  before  he  began,  by  Miss  Blimber's  shutting  up  the 
book,  and  saying,  "Go  on,  Dombey!"  a  proceeding  so  sug- 
gestive of  the  knowledge  inside  of  her,  that  Paul  looked  upon 
the  young  lady  with  consternation,  as  a  kind  of  learned  Guy 
Fawkes,  or  artificial  Bogie,  stuffed  full  of  scholastic  straw. 

He  acquitted  himself  very  well,  nevertheless ;  and  Miss  Blim- 
ber, commending  him  as  giving  promise  of  getting  on  fast, 
immediately  provided  him  with  subject  B;  from  which  he 
passed  to  C,  and  even  D  before  dinner.  It  was  hard  work, 
resuming  his  studies  soon  after  dinner :  and  he  felt  giddy  and 
confused,  and  drowsy  and  dull.  But  all  the  other  young 
gentlemen  had  similar  sensations,  and  were  obliged  to  resume 
their  studies  too,  if  there  were  any  comfort  in  that.  It  was 
a  wonder  that  the  great  clock  in  the  hall,  instead  of  being 


378  CHARLES  DICKENS 

constant  to  its  first  inquiry,  never  said,  "Gentlemen,  we  will 
now  resume  our  studies,"  for  that  phrase  was  often  enough 
repeated  in  its  neighborhood.  The  studies  went  round  like  a 
mighty  wheel,  and  the  young  gentlemen  were  always  stretched 
upon  it. 

After  tea  there  were  exercises  again,  and  preparations  for 
next  day  by  candle-light.  And  in  due  course  there  was  bed ; 
where,  but  for  that  resumption  of  the  studies  which  took  place 
in  dreams,  were  rest  and  sweet  forgetfulness. 

Oh,  Saturdays !  Oh,  happy  Saturdays !  when  Florence 
always  came  at  noon,  and  never  would,  in  any  weather,  stay 
away,  though  Mrs.  Pipchin  snarled  and  growled,  and  worried 
her  bitterly.  Those  Saturdays  were  Sabbaths  for  at  least  two 
little  Christians  among  all  the  Jews,  and  did  the  holy  Sabbath 
work  of  strengthening  and  knitting  up  a  brother's  and  a  sister's 
love. 

Not  even  Sunday  nights — the  heavy  Sunday  nights,  whose 
shadow  darkened  the  first  waking  burst  of  light  on  Sunday 
mornings — could  mar  those  precious  Saturdays.  Whether  it 
was  the  great  sea-shore,  where  they  sat  and  strolled  together ; 
or  whether  it  was  only  Mrs.  Pipchin's  dull  back  room,  in 
which  she  sang  to  him  so  softly,  with  his  drowsy  head  upon 
her  arm ;  Paul  never  cared.  It  was  Florence.  That  was  all  he 
thought  of.  So,  on  Sunday  nights,  when  the  Doctor's  dark 
door  stood  agape  to  swallow  him  up  for  another  week,  the  time 
was  come  for  taking  leave  of  Florence ;  no  one  else. 

Mrs.  Wickam  had  been  drafted  home  to  the  house  in  town, 
and  Miss  Nipper,  now  a  smart  young  woman,  had  come  down. 
To  many  a  single  combat  with  Mrs.  Pipchin  did  Miss  Nipper 
gallantly  devote  herself;  and  if  ever  Mrs.  Pipchin  in  all  her  life 
had  found  her  match,  she  had  found  it  now.  Miss  Nipper 
threw  away  the  scabbard  the  first  morning  she  arose  in  Mrs. 
Pipchin's  house.  She  asked  and  gave  no  quarter.  She  said  it 
must  be  war,  and  war  it  was  ;  and  Mrs.  Pipchin  lived  from  that 
time  in  the  midst  of  surprises,  harassings,  and  defiances ;  and 
skirmishing  attacks  that  came  bouncing  in  upon  her  from  the 


DR.   BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  379 

passage,  even  in  unguarded  moments  of  chops,  and  carried 
desolation  to  her  very  toast. 

Miss  Nipper  had  returned  one  Sunday  night  with  Florence, 
from  walking  back  with  Paul  to  the  Doctor's,  when  Florence 
took  from  her  bosom  a  little  piece  of  paper,  on  which  she  had 
penciled  down  some  words. 

"  See  here,  Susan,"  she  said.  "  These  are  the  names  of  the 
little  books  that  Paul  brings  home  to  do  those  long  exercises 
with,  when  he  is  so  tired.  I  copied  them  last  night  while  he 
was  writing." 

"  Don't  show  'em  to  me,  Miss  Floy,  if  you  please,"  returned 
Nipper  ;  "  I'd  as  soon  see  Mrs.  Pipchin." 

"  I  want  you  to  buy  them  for  me,  Susan,  if  you  will,  to- 
morrow morning.  I  have  money  enough,"  said  Florence. 

"  Why,  goodness  gracious  me,  Miss  Floy,"  returned  Miss 
Nipper,  "  how  can  you  talk  like  that,  when  you  have  books 
upon  books  already,  and  masterses  and  misses  a  teaching  of  you 
everything  continual,  though  my  belief  is  that  your  pa,  Miss 
Dombey,  never  would  have  learnt  you  nothing,  never  would 
have  thought  of  it,  unless  you'd  asked  him — when  he  couldn't 
well  refuse ;  but  giving  consent  when  asked,  and  offering  when 
unasked,  miss,  is  quite  two  things ;  I  may  not  have  any  objec- 
tions to  a  young  man's  keeping  company  with  me,  and  when 
he  puts  the  question,  may  say  "  Yes,"  but  that's  not  saying, 
'  Would  you  be  so  kind  as  like  me  ? ' ': 

"  But  you  can  buy  me  the  books,  Susan  ;  and  you  will,  when 
you  know  I  want  them." 

"  Well,  miss,  and  why  do  you  want  'em  ?  "  replied  Nipper ; 
adding,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  If  it  was  to  fling  at  Mrs.  Pipchin's 
head,  I'd  buy  a  cart-load." 

"  I  think  I  could  perhaps  give  Paul  some  help,  Susan,  if  I 
had  these  books,"  said  Florence,  "  and  make  the  coming  week  a 
little  easier  to  him.  At  least  I  want  to  try.  So  buy  them  for  me, 
dear,  and  I  will  never  forget  how  kind  it  was  of  you  to  do  it !  " 

It  must  have  been  a  harder  heart  than  Susan  Nipper's  that 
could  have  rejected  the  little  purse  Florence  held  out  with 


380  CHARLES  DICKENS 

these  words,  or  the  gentle  look  of  entreaty  with  which  she  sec- 
onded her  petition.  Susan  put  the  purse  in  her  pocket  without 
reply,  and  trotted  out  at  once  upon  her  errand. 

The  books  were  not  easy  to  procure ;  and  the  answer  at 
several  shops  was,  either  that  they  were  just  out  of  them,  or 
that  they  never  kept  them,  or  that  they  had  had  a  great  many 
last  month,  or  that  they  expected  a  great  many  next  week. 
But  Susan  was  not  easily  baffled  in  such  an  enterprise ;  and 
having  entrapped  a  white-haired  youth,  in  a  black  calico  apron, 
from  a  library  where  she  was  known,  to  accompany  her  in  her 
quest,  she  led  him  such  a  life  in  going  up  and  down,  that  he 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost,  if  it  were  only  to  get  rid  of  her ; 
and  finally  enabled  her  to  return  home  in  triumph. 

With  these  treasures,  then,  after  her  own  daily  lessons  were 
over,  Florence  sat  down  at  night  to  track  Paul's  footsteps 
through  the  thorny  ways  of  learning ;  and  being  possessed  of 
a  naturally  quick  and  sound  capacity,  and  taught  by  that  most 
wonderful  of  masters,  love,  it  was  not  long  before  she  gained 
upon  Paul's  heels,  and  caught  and  passed  him. 

Not  a  word  of  this  was  breathed  to  Mrs.  Pipchin  ;  but  many 
a  night  when  they  were  all  in  bed,  and  when  Miss  Nipper,  with 
her  hair  in  papers  and  herself  asleep  in  some  uncomfortable 
attitude,  reposed  unconscious  by  her  side;  and  when  the  chink- 
ing ashes  in  the  grate  were  cold  and  gray ;  and  when  the  candles 
were  burnt  down  and  guttering  out ;  Florence  tried  so  hard  to 
be  a  substitute  for  one  small  Dombey,  that  her  fortitude  and 
perseverance  might  have  almost  won  her  a  free  right  to  bear 
the  name  herself. 

And  high  was  her  reward,  when  one  Saturday  evening,  as 
little  Paul  was  sitting  down  as  usual  to  "  resume  his  studies," 
she  sat  down  by  his  side,  and  showed  him  all  that  was  so  rough, 
made  smooth,  and  all  that  was  so  dark,  made  clear  and  plain, 
before  him.  It  was  nothing  but  a  startled  look  in  Paul's  wan 
face — a  flush — a  smile — and  then  a  close  embrace — but  God 
knows  how  her  heart  leaped  up  at  this  rich  payment  for  her 
trouble. 


DR.    BLIMBER' S  SCHOOL  381 

"  Oh,  Floy !  "  cried  her  brother,  "  how  I  love  you  !  How  I 
love  you,  Floy  ! " 

"  And  I  you,  dear  !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  am  sure  of  that,  Floy !  " 

He  said  no  more  about  it,  but  all  that  evening  sat  close  by 
her,  very  quiet ;  and  in  the  night  he  called  out  from  his  little 
room  within  hers,  three  or  four  times,  that  he  loved  her. 

Regularly,  after  that,  Florence  was  prepared  to  sit  down  with 
Paul  on  Saturday  night,  and  patiently  assist  him  through  so 
much  as  they  could  anticipate  together  of  his  next  week's  work. 
The  cheering  thought  that  he  was  laboring  on  where  Florence 
had  just  toiled  before  him  would,  of  itself,  have  been  a  stimu- 
lant to  Paul  in  the  perpetual  resumption  of  his  studies ;  but, 
coupled  with  the  actual  lightening  of  his  load,  consequent  on 
this  assistance,  it  saved  him,  possibly,  from  sinking  underneath 
the  burden  which  the  fair  Cornelia  Blimber  piled  upon  his 
back. 

It  was  not  that  Miss  Blimber  meant  to  be  too  hard  upon  him, 
or  that  Doctor  Blimber  meant  to  bear  too  heavily  on  the  young 
gentlemen  in  general.  Cornelia  merely  held  the  faith  in  which 
she  had  been  bred ;  and  the  Doctor,  in  some  partial  confusion 
of  his  ideas,  regarded  the  young  gentlemen  as  if  they  were 
all  Doctors,  and  were  born  grown  up.  Comforted  by  the  ap- 
plause of  the  young  gentlemen's  nearest  relations,  and  urged  on 
by  their  blind  vanity  and  ill-considered  haste,  it  would  have 
been  strange  if  Doctor  Blimber  had  discovered  his  mistake, 
or  trimmed  his  swelling  sails  to  any  other  tack. 

Thus  in  the  case  of  Paul.  When  Doctor  Blimber  said  he 
made  great  progress,  and  was  naturally  clever,  Mr.  Dombey 
was  more  bent  than  ever  on  his  being  forced  and  crammed. 
In  the  case  of  Briggs,  when  Doctor  Blimber  reported  that  he 
did  not  make  great  progress  yet,  and  was  not  naturally  clever, 
Briggs  senior  was  inexorable  in  the  same  purpose.  In  short, 
however  high  and  jfalse  the  temperature  at  which  the  Doctor 
kept  his  hot-house,  the  owners  of  the  plants  were  always  ready 
to  lend  a  helping  hand  at  the  bellows,  and  to  stir  the  fire. 


382  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Such  spirits  as  he  had  in  the  outset,  Paul  soon  lost,  of  course. 
But  he  retained  all  that  was  strange,  and  old,  and  thoughtful 
in  his  character ;  and,  under  circumstances  so  favorable  to  the 
development  of  those  tendencies,  became  even  more  strange, 
and  old,  and  thoughtful  than  before. 

The  only  difference  was,  that  he  kept  his  character  to  himself. 
He  grew  more  thoughtful  and  reserved  every  day ;  and  had  no 
such  curiosity  in  any  living  member  of  the  Doctor's  household 
as  he  had  had  in  Mrs.  Pipchin.  He  loved  to  be  alone ;  and,  in 
those  short  intervals  when  he  was  not  occupied  with  his  books, 
liked  nothing  so  well  as  wandering  about  the  house  by  himself, 
or  sitting  on  the  stairs,  listening  to  the  great  clock  in  the  hall. 
He  was  intimate  with  all  the  paper-hanging  in  the  house ;  saw 
things  that  no  one  else  saw  in  the  patterns ;  found  out  miniature 
tigers  and  lions  running  up  the  bedroom  walls,  and  squinting 
faces  leering  in  the  squares  and  diamonds  of  the  floor-cloth. 

The  solitary  child  lived  on,  surrounded  by  this  arabesque 
work  of  his  musing  fancy,  and  no  one  understood  him.  Mrs. 
Blimber  thought  him  "  odd,"  and  sometimes  the  servants  said 
among  themselves  that  little  Dombey  "  moped ;"  but  that  was 
all. 

Unless  young  Toots  had  some  idea  on  the  subject,  to  the 
expression  of  which  he  was  wholly  unequal.  Ideas,  like 
ghosts  (according  to  the  common  notion  of  ghosts),  must  be 
spoken  to  a  little  before  they  will  explain  themselves ;  and 
Toots  had  long  left  off  asking  any  questions  of  his  own  mind. 
Some  mist  there  may  have  been,  issuing  from  that  leaden  cas- 
ket, his  cranium,  which,  if  it  could  have  taken  shape  and  form, 
would  have  become  a  genie ;  but  it  could  not ;  and  it  only  so 
far  followed  the  example  of  the  smoke  in  the  Arabian  story  as 
to  roll  out  in  a  thick  cloud,  and  there  hang  and  hover.  But  it 
left  a  little  figure  visible  upon  a  lonely  shore,  and  Toots  was 
always  staring  at  it. 

"  How  are  you?  "  he  would  say  to  Paul  fifty  times  a  day. 

"  Quite  well,  sir,  thank  you,"  Paul  would  answer. 

"  Shake  hands,"  would  be  Toots's  next  advance. 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  383 

Which  Paul,  of  course,  would  immediately  do.  Mr.  Toots 
generally  said  again,  after  a  long  interval  of  staring  and  hard 
breathing,  "  How  are  you  ? "  To  which  Paul  again  replied, 
"  Quite  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

One  evening  Mr.  Toots  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  oppressed  by 
correspondence,  when  a  great  purpose  seemed  to  flash  upon  him. 
He  laid  down  his  pen,  and  went  off  to  seek  Paul,  whom  he 
found  at  last,  after  a  long  search,  looking  through  the  window 
of  his  little  bedroom. 

"  I  say  !  "  cried  Toots,  speaking  the  moment  he  entered  the 
room,  lest  he  should  forget  it ;  "  what  do  you  think  about  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  think  about  a  great  many  things,"  replied  Paul.. 

"  Do  you,  though  ?  "  said  Toots,  appearing  to  consider  that 
fact  in  itself  surprising. 

"  If  you  had  to  die — "  said  Paul,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

Mr.  Toots  started,  and  seemed  much  disturbed. 

" — Don't  you  think  you  would  rather  die  on  a  moonlight 
night,  when  the  sky  was  quite  clear,  and  the  wind  blowing,  as 
it  did  last  night  ?  " 

Mr.  Toots  said,  looking  doubtfully  at  Paul,  and  shaking  his 
head,  that  he  didn't  know  about  that. 

"  Not  blowing,  at  least,"  said  Paul,  "  but  sounding  in  the  air 
like  the  sea  sounds  in  the  shells.  It  was  a  beautiful  night. 
When  I  had  listened  to  the  water  for  a  long  time,  I  got  up  and 
looked  out.  There  was  a  boat  over  there,  in  the  full  light  of 
the  moon  ;  a  boat  with  a  sail." 

The  child  looked  at  him  so  steadfastly,  and  spoke  so  earnestly 
that  Mr.  Toots,  feeling  himself  called  upon  to  say  something 
about  this  boat,  said,  "  Smugglers."  But,  with  an  impartial 
remembrance  of  there  being  two  sides  to  every  question,  he 
added,  "  or  Preventive." 

"  A  boat  with  a  sail,"  repeated  Paul,  "  in  the  full  light  of  the 
moon.  The  sail  like  an  arm,  all  silver.  It  went  away  into  the 
distance,  and  what  do  you  think  it  seemed  to  do  as  it  moved 
with  the  waves  ?  " 

"  Pitch,"  said  Mr.  Toots. 


384  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  It  seemed  to  beckon,"  said  the  child,  "  to  beckon  me  to 
come !  There  she  is !  There  she  is !  " 

Toots  was  almost  beside  himself  with  dismay  at  this  sudden 
exclamation,  after  what  had"  gone  before,  and  cried,  "  Who  ?  " 

"  My  sister  Florence ! "  cried  Paul,  "  looking  up  here,  and 
waving  her  hand.  She  sees  me — she  sees  me!  Good-night, 
dear,  good-night,  good-night !  " 

His  quick  transition  to  a  state  of  unbounded  pleasure,  as  he 
stood  at  his  window,  kissing  and  clapping  his  hands,  and  the 
way  in  which  the  light  retreated  from  his  features  as  she  passed 
out  of  his  view,  and  left  a  patient  melancholy  on  the  little  face, 
were  too  remarkable  wholly  to  escape  even  Toots's  notice.  Their 
interview  being  interrupted  at  this  moment  by  a  visit  from 
Mrs.  Pipchin,  who  usually  brought  her  black  skirts  to  bear 
upon  Paul  just  before  dusk,  once  or  twice  a  week,  Toots  had  no 
opportunity  of  improving  the  occasion :  but  it  left  so  marked 
an  impression  on  his  mind,  that  he  twice  returned,  after  hav- 
ing exchanged  the  usual  salutations,  to  ask  Mrs.  Pipchin  how 
she  did.  This  the  irascible  old  lady  conceived  to  be  a  deeply- 
devised  and  long-meditated  insult,  originating  in  the  diabolical 
invention  of  the  weak-eyed  young  man  down-stairs,  against 
whom  she  accordingly  lodged  a  formal  complaint  with  Doctor 
Blimber  that  very  night ;  who  mentioned  to  the  young  man 
that  if  he  ever  did  it  again,  he  should  be  obliged  to  part  with 
him. 

The  evenings  being  longer  now,  Paul  stole  up  to  his  window 
every  evening  to  look  out  for  Florence.  She  always  passed  and 
repassed  at  a  certain  time  until  she  saw  him ;  and  their  mutual 
recognition  was  a  gleam  of  sunshine  in  Paul's  daily  life.  Often, 
after  dark,  one  other  figure  walked  alone  before  the  Doctor's 
house.  He  rarely  joined  them  on  the  Saturday  now.  He  could 
not  bear  it.  He  would  rather  come  unrecognized,  and  look  up 
at  the  windows  where  his  son  was  qualifying  for  a  man ;  and 
wait,  and  watch,  and  plan,  and  hope. 

Oh !  could  he  but  have  seen,  or  seen  as  others  did,  the  slight, 
spare  boy  above,  watching  the  waves  and  clouds  at  twilight 


DR.   BLIMBER1 8  SCHOOL  385 

with  his  earnest  eyes,  and  breasting  the  window  of  his  solitary 
cage  when  birds  flew  by,  as  if  he  would  have  emulated  them, 
and  soared  away ! 

When  the  Midsummer  vacation  approached,  no  indecent 
manifestations  of  joy  were  exhibited  by  the  leaden-eyed  young 
gentlemen  assembled  at  Doctor  Blimber's.  Any  such  violent 
expression  as  "  breaking-up  "  would  have  been  quite  inapplica- 
ble to  that  polite  establishment.  The  young  gentlemen  oozed 
away,  semi-annually,  to  their  own  homes ;  but  they  never  broke 
up.  They  would  have  scorned  the  action. 

They  were  within  two  or  three  weeks  of  the  holidays,  when, 
one  day,  Cornelia  Blimber  called  Paul  into  her  room,  and  said, 
"  Dombey,  I  am  going  to  send  home  your  analysis." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  returned  Paul. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  do  you,  Dombey?  "  inquired  Miss 
Blimber,  looking  hard  at  him  through  the  spectacles. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Paul. 

"  Dombey,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  "  I  begin  to  be  afraid 
you  are  a  sad  boy.  When  you  don't  know  the  meaning  of  an 
expression,  why  don't  you  seek  for  information  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Pipchin  told  me  I  wasn't  to  ask  questions,"  returned 
Paul. 

"  I  must  beg  you  not  to  mention  Mrs.  Pipchin  to  me  on  any 
account,  Dombey,"  returned  Miss  Blimber.  "  I  couldn't  think 
of  allowing  it.  The  course  of  study  here  is  very  far  removed 
from  anything  of  that  sort.  A  repetition  of  such  allusions 
would  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  request  to  hear  without  a 
mistake,  before  breakfast-time  to-morrow  morning,  from  V&rbum 
personate  down  to  simillima  cygno." 

"I  didn't  mean,  ma'am — "  began  little  Paul. 

"  I  must  trouble  you  not  to  tell  me  that  you  didn't  mean, 
if  you  please,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  who  preserved  an 
awful  politeness  in  her  admonitions.     "  That  is  a  line  of  argu- 
ment I  couldn't  dream  of  permitting." 
an.— 25 


386  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Paul  felt  it  safest  to  say  nothing  at  all,  so  he  only  looked  at 
Miss  Blimber's  spectacles.  Miss  Blimber,  having  shaken  her 
head  at  him  gravely,  referred  to  a  paper  lying  before  her. 

"  '  Analysis  of  the  character  of  P.  Dombey.'  If  my  recollec- 
tion serves  me,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  breaking  off,  "  the  word 
analysis,  as  opposed  to  synthesis,  is  thus  defined  by  Walker : 
'The  resolution  of  an  object,  whether  of  the  senses  or  of  the 
intellect,  into  its  first  elements.'  As  opposed  to  synthesis,  you 
observe.  Now  you  know  what  analysis  is,  Dombey." 

Dombey  didn't  seem  to  be  absolutely  blinded  by  the  light  let 
in  upon  his  intellect,  but  he  made  Miss  Blimber  a  little  bow. 

" '  Analysis,'  "  resumed  Miss  Blimber,  casting  her  eye  over 
the  paper,  "'of  the  character  of  P.  Dombey.  I  find  that  the 
natural  capacity  of  Dombey  is  extremely  good :  and  that  his 
general  disposition  to  study  may  be  stated  in  an  equal  ratio. 
Thus,  taking  eight  as  our  standard  and  highest  number,  I  find 
these  qualities  in  Dombey  stated  at  six  three-fourths  ! ' ' 

Miss  Blimber  paused  to  see  how  Paul  received  this  news. 
Being  undecided  whether  six  three-fourths  meant  six  pounds 
fifteen,  or  sixpence  three  farthings,  or  six  foot  three,  or  three- 
quarters  past  six,  or  six  somethings  that  he  hadn't  learnt  yet, 
with  three  unknown  something  else's  over,  Paul  rubbed  his 
hands  and  looked  straight  at  Miss  Blimber.  It  happened  to 
answer  as  well  as  anything  else  he  could  have  done  ;  and  Cor- 
nelia proceeded : 

" '  Violence  two.  Selfishness  two.  Inclination  to  low  com- 
pany, as  evinced  in  the  case  of  a  person  named  Glubb,  origi- 
nally seven,  but  since  reduced.  Gentlemanly  demeanor  four, 
and  improving  with  advancing  years.'  Now,  what  I  particu- 
larly wish  to  call  your  attention  to,  Dombey,  is  the  general 
observation  at  the  close  of  this  analysis." 

Paul  set  himself  to  follow  it  with  great  care. 

" '  It  may  be  generally  observed  of  Dombey,' "  said  Miss 
Blimber,  reading  in  a  loud  voice,  and  at  every  second  word 
directing  her  spectacles  toward  the  figure  before  her :  " '  that  his 
abilities  and  inclinations  are  good,  and  that  he  has  made  as 


DR.    BLIMBER' S  SCHOOL  387 

much  progress  as  under  the  circumstances  could  have  been 
expected.  But  it  is  to  be  lamented  of  this  young  gentleman 
that  he  is  singular  (what  is  usually  termed  old-fashioned)  in  his 
character  and  conduct,  and  that,  without  presenting  anything 
in  either  which  distinctly  calls  for  reprobation,  he  is  often  very 
unlike  other  young  gentlemen  of  his  age  and  social  position.' 
Now,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  laying  down  the  paper, 
"  do  you  understand  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,  ma'am,"  said  Paul. 

"  This  analysis,  you  see,  Dombey,"  Miss  Blimber  continued, 
"  is  going  to  be  sent  home  to  your  respected  parent.  It  will 
naturally  be  very  painful  to  him  to  find  that  you  are  singular 
in  your  character  and  conduct.  It  is  naturally  painful  to  us ; 
for  we  can't  like  you,  you  know,  Dombey,  as  well  as  we  could 
wish." 

She  touched  the  child  upon  a  tender  point.  He  had  secretly 
become  more  and  more  solicitous  from  day  to  day,  as  the  time 
of  his  departure  drew  more  near,  that  all  the  house  should  like 
him.  For  some  hidden  reason,  very  imperfectly  understood  by 
himself — if  understood  at  all — he  felt  a  gradually  increasing 
impulse  of  affection  toward  almost  everything  and  everybody 
in  the  place.  He  could  not  bear  to  think  that  they  would  be 
quite  indifferent  to  him  when  he  was  gone.  He  wanted  them 
to  remember  him  kindly ;  and  he  had  made  it  his  business 
even  to  conciliate  a  great,  hoarse,  shaggy  dog,  chained  up  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  who  had  previously  been  the  terror  of 
his  life,  that  even  he  might  miss  him  when  he  was  no  longer 
there. 

Little  thinking  that  in  this  he  only  showed  again  the  differ- 
ence between  himself  and  his  compeers,  poor  tiny  Paul  set  it 
forth  to  Miss  Blimber  as  well  as  he  could,  and  begged  her,  in 
despite  of  the  official  analysis,  to  have  the  goodness  to  try  and 
like  him.  To  Mrs.  Blimber,  who  had  joined  them,  he  preferred 
the  same  petition ;  and  when  that  lady  could  not  forbear,  even 
in  his  presence,  from  giving  utterance  to  her  often-repeated 
opinion,  that  he  was  an  odd  child,  Paul  told  her  that  he  was 


388  CHARLES  DICKENS 

sure  she  was  quite  right ;  that  he  thought  it  must  be  his  bones, 
but  he  didn't  know ;  and  that  he  hoped  she  would  overlook  it, 
for  he  was  fond  of  them  all. 

"  Not  so  fond,"  said  Paul,  with  a  mixture  of  timidity  and 
perfect  frankness,  which  was  one  of  the  most  peculiar  and  most 
engaging  qualities  of  the  child,  "  not  so  fond  as  I  am  of  Flor- 
ence, of  course;  that  could  never  be.  You  couldn't  expect 
that,  could  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Oh !  the  old-fashioned  little  soul !  "  cried  Mrs.  Blimber  in  a 
whisper. 

"But  I  like  everybody  here  very  much,"  pursued  Paul,  "and 
I  should  grieve  to  go  away,  and  think  that  any  one  was  glad 
that  I  was  gone,  or  didn't  care." 

Mrs.  Blimber  was  now  quite  sure  that  Paul  was  the  oddest 
child  in  the  world ;  and  when  she  told  the  Doctor  what  had 
passed,  the  Doctor  did  not  controvert  his  wife's  opinion.  But 
he  said,  as  he  had  said  before,  when  Paul  first  came,  that  study 
would  do  much  ;  and  he  also  said,  as  he  had  said  on  that  oc- 
casion, "  Bring  him  on,  Cornelia !  Bring  him  on !  " 

Cornelia  had  always  brought  him  on  as  vigorously  as  she 
could;  and  Paul  had  had  a  hard  life  of  it.  But,  over  and 
above  the  getting  through  his  tasks,  he  had  long  had  another 
purpose  always  present  to  him,  and  to  which  he  still  held  fast. 
It  was,  to  be  a  gentle,  useful,  quiet  little  fellow,  always  striving 
to  secure  the  love  and  attachment  of  the  rest ;  and  though  he 
was  yet  often  to  be  seen  at  his  old  post  on  the  stairs,  or  watch- 
ing the  waves  and  clouds  from  his  solitary  window,  he  was 
oftener  found,  too,  among  the  other  boys,  modestly  rendering 
them  some  little  voluntary  service.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  that, 
even  among  those  rigid  and  absorbed  young  anchorites  who 
mortified  themselves  beneath  the  roof  of  Doctor  Blimber,  Paul 
was  an  object  of  general  interest ;  a  fragile  little  plaything  that 
they  all  liked,  and  that  no  one  would  have  thought  of  treating 
roughly.  But  he  could  not  change  his  nature,  or  rewrite  the 
analysis ;  and  so  they  all  agreed  that  Dombey  was  old-fashioned. 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  389 

Paul  had  never  risen  from  his  little  bed.  He  lay  there,  listen- 
ing to  the  noises  in  the  street,  quite  tranquilly ;  not  caring 
much  how  the  time  went,  but  watching  it  and  watching  every- 
thing about  him,  with  observing  eyes. 

When  the  sunbeams  struck  into  his  room  through  the  rust- 
ling blinds,  and  quivered  on  the  opposite  wall  like  golden  water, 
he  knew  that  evening  was  coming  on,  and  that  the  sky  was  red 
and  beautiful.  As  the  reflection  died  away,  and  a  gloom  went 
creeping  up  the  wall,  he  watched  it  deepen,  deepen,  deepen  into 
night.  Then  he  thought  how  the  long  streets  were  dotted  with 
lamps,  and  how  the  peaceful  stars  were  shining  overhead.  His 
fancy  had  a  strange  tendency  to  wander  to  the  river,  which  he 
knew  was  flowing  through  the  great  city  :  and  now  he  thought 
how  black  it  was,  and  how  deep  it  would  look,  reflecting  the 
hosts  of  stars — and  more  than  all,  how  steadily  it  rolled  away 
to  meet  the  sea. 

As  it  grew  later  in  the  night,  and  footsteps  in  the  street  be- 
came so  rare  that  he  could  hear  them  coming,  count  them  as 
they  paused,  and  lose  them  in  the  hollow  distance,  he  would  lie 
and  watch  the  many-colored  ring  about  the  candle,  and  wait 
patiently  for  day.  His  only  trouble  was,  the  swift  and  rapid 
river.  He  felt  forced,  sometimes,  to  try  to  stop  it — to  stem  it 
with  his  childish  hands — or  choke  its  way  with  sand — and  when 
he  saw  it  coming  on,  resistless,  he  cried  out.  But  a  word  from 
Florence,  who  was  always  at  his  side,  restored  him  to  himself; 
and  leaning  his  poor  head  upon  her  breast,  he  told  Floy  of  his 
dream,  and  smiled. 

When  day  began  to  dawn  again,  he  watched  for  the  sun  ;  and 
when  its  cheerful  light  began  to  sparkle  in  the  room,  he  pictured 
to  himself — pictured !  he  saw — the  high  church  tower  rising  up 
into  the  morning  sky,  the  town  reviving,  waking,  starting  into 
life  once  more,  the  river  glistening  as  it  rolled  (but  rolling  fast 
as  ever),  and  the  country  bright  with  dew.  Familiar  sounds 
and  cries  came  by  degrees  into  the  street  below ;  the  servants  in 
the  house  were  roused  and  busy ;  faces  looked  in  at  the  door, 
and  voices  asked  his  attendants  softly  how  he  was.  Paul 


390  CHARLES  DICKENS 

always  answered  for  himself,  "I  am  better.  I  am  a  great  deal 
better,  thank  you !  Tell  papa  so !  " 

By  little  and  little,  he  got  tired  of  the  bustle  of  the  day,  the 
noise  of  carriages  and  carts,  and  people  passing  and  re-passing ; 
and  would  fall  asleep,  or  be  troubled  with  a  restless  and  uneasy 
sense  again — the  child  could  hardly  tell  whether  this  were  in 
his  sleeping  or  his  waking  moments — of  that  rushing  river. 
"  Why,  will  it  never  stop,  Floy  ?  "  he  would  sometimes  ask  her. 
"  It  is  bearing  me  away,  I  think !  " 

But  Floy  could  always  soothe  and  reassure  him ;  and  it  was 
his  daily  delight  to  make  her  lay  her  head  down  on  his  pillow, 
and  take  some  rest. 

"  You  are  always  watching  me,  Floy.  Let  me  watch  you, 
now  ! " 

They  would  prop  him  up  with  cushions  in  a  corner  of  his 
bed,  and  there  he  would  recline  the  while  she  lay  beside  him, 
bending  forward  oftentimes  to  kiss  her,  and  whispering  to  those 
who  were  near  that  she  was  tired,  and  how  she  had  sat  up  so 
many  nights  beside  him. 

Thus,  the  flush  of  the  day,  in  its  heat  and  light,  would  gradu- 
ally decline ;  and  again  the  golden  water  would  be  dancing  on 
the  wall. 

He  was  visited  by  as  many  as  three  grave  doctors — they  used 
to  assemble  down-stairs,  and  come  up  together — and  the  room 
was  so  quiet,  and  Paul  was  so  observant  of  them  (though  he 
never  asked  of  anybody  what  they  said),  that  he  even  knew 
the  difference  in  the  sound  of  their  watches.  But  his  interest 
centered  in  Sir  Parker  Peps,  who  always  took  his  seat  on  the 
side  of  the  bed.  For  Paul  had  heard  them  say,  long  ago,  that 
that  gentleman  had  been  with  his  mamma  when  she  clasped 
Florence  in  her  arms,  and  died.  And  he  could  not  forget  it, 
now.  He  liked  him  for  it.  He  was  not  afraid. 

The  people  round  him  changed  as  unaccountably  as  on  that 
first  night  at  Doctor  Blimber's — except  Florence;  Florence 
never  changed — and  what  had  been  Sir  Parker  Peps  was  now 
his  father,  sitting  with  his  head  upon  his  hand.  Old  Mrs, 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  •        391 

Pipchin,  dozing  in  an  easy-chair,  often  changed  to  Miss  Tox, 
or  his  aunt ;  and  Paul  was  quite  content  to  shut  his  eyes  again, 
and  see  what  happened  next  without  emotion.  But  this  figure 
with  its  head  upon  its  hand  returned  so  often,  and  remained 
so  long,  and  sat  so  still  and  solemn,  never  speaking,  never  being 
spoken  to,  and  rarely  lifting  up  its  face,  that  Paul  began  to 
wonder  languidly  if  it  were  real ;  and  in  the  night-time  saw  it 
sitting  there  with  fear. 

"  Floy  !  "  he  said.     "  What  is  that  ?  " 

"Where,  dearest?" 

"  There !  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed." 

"  There's  nothing  there,  except  papa !  " 

The  figure  lifted  up  its  head,  and  rose,  and  coming  to  the  bed- 
side, said  :  "  My  own  boy !  Don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

Paul  looked  it  in  the  face,  and  thought,  was  this  his  father  ? 
But  the  face,  so  altered  to  his  thinking,  thrilled  while  he  gazed, 
as  if  it  were  in  pain  ;  and  before  he  could  reach  out  both  his 
hands  to  take  it  between  them,  and  draw  it  toward  him,  the 
figure  turned  away  quickly  from  the  little  bed,  and  went  out  at 
the  door. 

Paul  looked  at  Florence  with  a  fluttering  heart,  but  he  knew 
what  she  was  going  to  say,  and  stopped  her  with  his  face  against 
her  lips.  The  next  time  he  observed  the  figure  sitting  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bed,  he  called  to  it. 

"  Don't  be  so  sorry  for  me,  dear  papa !  Indeed,  I  am  quite 
happy  !  " 

His  father  coming,  and  bending  down  to  him — which  he  did 
quickly,  and  without  first  pausing  by  the  bedside — Paul  held 
him  round  the  neck,  and  repeated  those  words  to  him  several 
times,  and  very  earnestly ;  and  Paul  never  saw  him  in  his  room 
again  at  any  time,  whether  it  were  day  or  night,  but  he  called 
out,  "  Don't  be  so  sorry  for  me !  Indeed,  I  am  quite  happy ! " 
This  was  the  beginning  of  his  always  saying  in  the  morning 
that  he  was  a  great  deal  better,  and  that  they  were  to  tell  his 
father  so. 

How  many  times  the  golden  water  danced  upon  the  wall ; 


392  CHARLES  DICKENS 

how  many  nights  the  dark,  dark  river  rolled  toward  the  sea  in 
spite  of  him ;  Paul  never  counted,  never  sought  to  know.  If 
their  kindness,  or  his  sense  of  it,  could  have  increased,  they 
were  more  kind,  and  he  more  grateful,  every  day ;  but  whether 
they  were  many  days  or  few,  appeared  of  little  moment  now  to 
the  gentle  boy. 

One  night  he  had  been  thinking  of  his  mother,  and  her  pic- 
ture in  the  drawing-room  down-stairs,  and  had  thought  she 
must  have  loved  sweet  Florence  better  than  his  father  did,  to 
have  held  her  in  her  arms  when  she  felt  that  she  was  dying — 
for  even  he,  her  brother,  who  had  such  dear  love  for  her,  could 
have  no  greater  wish  than  that.  The  train  of  thought  sug- 
gested to  him  to  inquire  if  he  had  ever  seen  his  mother ;  for  he 
could  not  remember  whether  they  had  told  him  yes  or  no,  the 
river  running  very  fast,  and  confusing  his  mind. 

"  Floy,  did  I  ever  see  mamma?" 

"No,  darling:  why?" 

"  Did  I  never  see  any  kind  face,  like  mamma's,  looking  at  me 
when  I  was  a  baby,  Floy  ?  " 

He  asked  incredulously,  as  if  he  had  some  vision  of  a  face 
before  him. 

"Oh  yes,  dear!" 

"Whose,  Floy?" 

"  Your  old  nurse's.     Often." 

"  And  where  is  my  old  nurse  ?  "  said  Paul.  "  Is  she  dead 
too  ?  Floy,  are  we  all  dead,  except  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  hurry  in  the  room  for  an  instant — longer,  per- 
haps ;  but  it  seemed  no  more — then  all  was  still  again ;  and 
Florence,  with  her  face  quite  colorless,  but  smiling,  held  his 
head  upon  her  arm.  Her  arm  trembled  very  much. 

"  Show  me  that  old  nurse,  Floy,  if  you  please !  " 

"  She  is  not  here,  darling.     She  shall  come  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  Floy  !  " 

Paul  closed  his  eyes  with  those  words,  and  fell  asleep.  When 
he  awoke  the  sun  was  high,  and  the  broad  day  was  clear  and 
warm.  He  lay  a  little,  looking  at  the  windows,  which  were 


DR.    BLIMBER'S  SCHOOL  393 

open,  and  the  curtains,  rustling  in  the  air,  and  waving  to  and 
fro :  then  he  said,  "  Floy,  is  it  to-morrow  ?  Is  she  come  ?  " 

Some  one  seemed  to  go  in  quest  of  her.  Perhaps  it  was 
Susan.  Paul  thought  he  heard  her  telling  him,  when  he  had 
closed  his  eyes  again,  that  she  would  soon  be  back ;  but  he  did 
not  open  them  to  see.  She  kept  her  word — perhaps  she  had 
never  been  away — but  the  next  thing  that  happened  was  a 
noise  of  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  then  Paul  woke — woke, 
mind  and  body — and  sat  upright  in  his  bed.  He  saw  them 
now  about  him.  There  was  no  gray  mist  before  them,  as  there 
had  been  sometimes  in  the  night.  He  knew  them  every  one, 
and  called  them  by  their  names. 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  Is  this  my  old  nurse  ?  "  said  the  child, 
regarding  with  a  radiant  smile  a  figure  coming  in. 

Yes,  yes.  No  other  stranger  would  have  shed  those  tears  at 
sight  of  him,  and  called  him  her  dear  boy,  her  pretty  boy,  her 
own  poor  blighted  child.  No  other  woman  would  have  stooped 
down  by  his  bed,  and  taken  up  his  wasted  hand,  and  put  it  to 
her  lips  and  breast,  as  one  who  had  some  right  to  fondle  it. 
No  other  woman  would  have  so  forgotten  everybody  there  but 
him  and  Floy,  and  been  so  full  of  tenderness  and  pity. 

"  Floy  !  this  is  a  kind,  good  face  !  "  said  Paul.  "I  am  glad  to 
see  it  again.  Don't  go  away,  old  nurse !  Stay  here !  " 

His  senses  were  all  quickened,  and  he  heard  a  name  he 
knew. 

"Who  was  that  who  said  'Walter'?"  he  asked,  looking 
round.  "  Some  one  said  '  Walter.'  Is  he  here?  I  should  like 
to  see  him  very  much." 

Nobody  replied  directly ;  but  his  father  soon  said  to  Susan, 
"  Call  him  back,  then :  let  him  come  up !  "  After  a  short  pause 
of  expectation,  during  which  he  looked  with  smiling  interest 
and  wonder  on  his  nurse,  and  saw  that  she  had  not  forgotten 
Floy,  Walter  was  brought  into  the  room.  His  open  face  and 
manner,  and  his  cheerful  eyes,  had  always  made  him  a  favorite 
with  Paul ;  and  when  Paul  saw  him,  he  stretched  out  his  hand, 
and  said,  "  Good-by  ! " 


894  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  Good-by,  my  child !  "  cried  Mrs.  Pipchin,  hurrying  to  his 
bed's  head.  "  Not  good-by  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Paul  looked  at  her  with  the  wistful  face  with 
which  he  had  so  often  gazed  upon  her  in  his  corner  by  the  fire. 
"  Ah,  yes,"  he  said  placidly,  "  good-by  !  Walter  dear,  good- 
by  ! " — turning  his  head  to  where  he  stood,  and  putting  out  his 
hand  again.  "  Where  is  papa  ?  " 

He  felt  his  father's  breath  upon  his  cheek  before  the  words 
had  parted  from  his  lips. 

"  Remember  Walter,  dear  papa,"  he  whispered,  looking  in  his 
face.  "  Remember  Walter.  I  was  fond  of  Walter."  The  feeble 
hand  waved  in  the  air  as  if  it  cried  "  Good-by !  "  to  Walter  once 
again. 

"  Now  lay  me  down,"  he  said,  "  and,  Floy,  come  close  to  me, 
and  let  me  see  you  !  " 

Sister  and  brother  wound  their  arms  around  each  other,  and 
the  golden  light  came  streaming  in,  and  fell  upon  them,  locked 
together. 

"  How  fast  the  river  runs,  between  its  green  banks  and  the 
rushes,  Floy !  But  it's  very  near  the  sea.  I  hear  the  waves ! 
They  always  said  so." 

Presently  he  told  her  that  the  motion  of  the  boat  upon  the 
stream  was  lulling  him  to  rest.  How  green  the  banks  were 
now,  how  bright  the  flowers  growing  on  them,  and  how  tall  the 
rushes !  Now  the  boat  was  out  at  sea,  but  gliding  smoothly  on. 
And  now  there  was  a  shore  before  him.  Who  stood  on  the 
bank  ?— 

He  put  his  hands  together,  as  he  had  been  used  to  do  at  his 
prayers.  He  did  not  remove  his  arms  to  do  it ;  but  they  saw 
him  fold  them  so,  behind  her  neck. 

"  Mamma  is  like  you,  Floy.  I  know  her  by  the  face  !  But 
tell  them  that  the  print  upon  the  stairs  at  school  is  not  divine 
enough.  The  light  about  the  head  is  shining  on  me  as  I  go !  " 

The  golden  ripple  on  the  wall  came  back  again,  and  nothing 
else  stirred  in  the  room.  The  old,  old  fashion !  The  fashion 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  395 

that  came  in  with  our  first  garments,  and  will  last  unchanged 
until  our  race  has  run  its  course,  and  the  wide  firmament  is 
rolled  up  like  a  scroll.  The  old,  old  fashion — Death  ! 

Oh,  thank  GOD,  all  who  see  it,  for  that  older  fashion  yet,  of 
Immortality  !  And  look  upon  us,  angels  of  young  children, 
with  regards  not  quite  estranged  when  the  swift  river  bears  us 
to  the  ocean ! 

The  School  at  Salem  House 

(From  "  David  Copperfield ") 

A  short  walk  brought  us — I  mean  the  Master  and  me — to 
Salem  House,  which  was  inclosed  within  a  high  brick  wall,  and 
looked  very  dull.  Over  a  door  in  this  wall  was  a  board  with 
SALEM  HOUSE  upon  it;  and  through  a  grating  in  this  door  we 
were  surveyed,  when  we  rang  the  bell,  by  a  surly  face,  which  I 
found,  on  the  door  being  opened,  belonged  to  a  stout  man  with 
a  bull-neck,  a  wooden  leg,  overhanging  temples,  and  his  hair 
cut  close  all  round  his  head. 

"  The  new  boy,"  said  the  Master. 

The  man  with  the  wooden  leg  eyed  me  all  over — it  didn't 
take  long,  for  there  was  not  much  of  me — and  locked  the  gate 
behind  us  and  took  out  the  key.  We  were  going  up  to  the 
house,  among  some  dark  heavy  trees,  when  he  called  after  my 
conductor. 

"  Hallo ! " 

We  looked  back,  and  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  a  little 
lodge,  where  he  lived,  with  a  pair  of  boots  in  his  hand. 

"  Here !  The  cobbler's  been,"  he  said,  "  since  you've  been 
out,  Mr.  Mell,  and  he  says  he  can't  mend  'em  any  more.  He 
says  there  ain't  a  bit  of  the  original  boot  left,  and  he  wonders 
you  expect  it." 

With  these  words  he  threw  the  boots  toward  Mr.  Mell,  who 
went  back  a  few  paces  to  pick  them  up,  and  looked  at  them 
(very  disconsolately,  I  was  afraid)  as  we  went  on  together.  I 
observed  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  boots  he  had  on  were 


396  CHARLES  DICKENS 

a  good  deal  the  worse  for  wear,  and  that  his  stocking  was  just 
breaking  out  in  one  place,  like  a  bud. 

Salem  House  was  a  square  brick  building  with  wings,  of  a 
bare  and  unfurnished  appearance.  All  about  it  was  so  very 
quiet,  that  I  said  to  Mr.  Mell  I  supposed  the  boys  were  out ;  but 
he  seemed  surprised  at  my  not  knowing  that  it  was  holiday- 
time.  That  all  the  boys  were  at  their  several  homes.  That 
Mr.  Creakle,  the  proprietor,  was  down  by  the  sea-side  with  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Creakle.  And  that  I  was  sent  in  holiday-time  as  a 
punishment  for  my  misdoing.  All  of  which  he  explained  to 
me  as  we  went  along. 

I  gazed  upon  the  schoolroom  into  which  he  took  me,  as  the 
most  forlorn  and  desolate  place  I  had  ever  seen.  I  see  it  now. 
A  long  room,  with  three  long  rows  of  desks,  and  six  of  forms, 
and  bristling  all  round  with  pegs  for  hats  and  slates.  Scraps 
of  old  copy-books  and  exercises  litter  the  dirty  floor.  Some 
silkworms'  houses,  made  of  the  same  materials,  are  scattered 
over  the  desks.  Two  miserable  little  white  mi^e,  left  behind  by 
their  owner,  are  running  up  and  down  in  a  fusty  castle  made 
of  pasteboard  and  wire,  looking  in  all  the  corners  with  their  red 
eyes  for  anything  to  eat.  A  bird,  in  a  cage  very  little  bigger 
than  himself,  makes  a  mournful  rattle  now  and  then  in  hopping 
on  his  perch,  two  inches  high,  or  dropping  from  it ;  but  neither 
sings  nor  chirps.  There  is  a  strange  unwholesome  smell  upon 
the  room,  like  mildewed  corduroys,  sweet  apples  wanting  air, 
and  rotten  books.  There  could  not  well  be  more  ink  splashed 
about  it,  if  it  had  been  roofless  from  its  first  construction,  and 
the  skies  had  rained,  snowed,  hailed,  and  blown  ink  through 
the  varying  seasons  of  the  year. 

Mr.  Mell  having  left  me  while  he  took  his  irreparable  boots 
upstairs,  I  went  softly  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  observing 
all  this  as  I  crept  along.  Suddenly  I  came  upon  a  pasteboard 
placard,  beautifully  written,  which  was  lying  on  the  desk,  and 
bore  these  words :  "  Take  care  of  him.  He  bites." 

I  got  upon  the  desk  immediately,  apprehensive  of  at  least  a 
great  dog  underneath.  But,  though  I  looked  all  round  with 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  397 

anxious  eyes,  I  could  see  nothing  of  him.  I  was  still  engaged 
in  peering  about  when  Mr.  Mell  came  back  and  asked  me  what 
I  did  up  there. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  says  I ;  "  if  you  please,  I'm  looking 
for  the  dog." 

"  Dog  ?  "  says  he.     "  What  dog  ?  " 

"Isn't  it  a  dog,  sir?" 

"Isn't* what  a  dog?" 

"  That's  to  be  taken  care  of,  sir ;  that  bites  ?  " 

"  No,  Copperfield,"  says  he,  gravely,  "that's  not  a  dog.  That's 
a  boy.  My  instructions  are,  Copperfield,  to  put  this  placard  on 
your  back.1  I  am  sorry  to  make  such  a  beginning  with  you, 
but  I  must  do  it." 

With  that  he  took  me  down,  and  tied  the  placard,  which  was 
neatly  constructed  for  the  purpose,  on  my  shoulders  like  a  knap- 
sack ;  and  wherever  I  went  afterward,  I  had  the  consolation  of 
carrying  it. 

What  I  suffered  from  that  placard  nobody  can  imagine. 
Whether  it  was  possible  for  people  to  see  me  or  not,  I  always 
fancied  that  somebody  was  reading  it.  It  was  no  relief  to  turn 
round  and  find  nobody ;  for  wherever  my  back  was,  there  I 
imagined  somebody  always  to  be.  That  cruel  man  with  the 
wooden  leg  aggravated  my  sufferings.  He  was  in  authority,  and 
if  he  ever  saw  me  leaning  against  a  tree,  or  a  wall,  or  the  house, 
he  roared  out  from  his  lodge-door  in  a  stupendous  voice,  "  Hallo, 
you  sir !  You  Copperfield !  Show  that  badge  conspicuous,  or 
I'll  report  you."  The  playground  was  a  bare  graveled  yard, 
open  to  all  the  back  of  the  house  and  the  offices ;  and  I  knew 
that  the  servants  read  it,  and  the  butcher  read  it,  and  the  baker 
read  it ;  that  everybody,  in  a  word,  who  came  backward  and 
forward  to  the  house  of  a  morning  when  I  was  ordered  to  walk 
there,  read  that  I  was  to  be  taken  care  of,  for  I  bit.  I  recollect 
that  I  positively  began  to  have  a  dread  of  mj'-self  as  a  kind  of 
wild  boy  who  did  bite. 

1  The  boy  had  bitten  the  finger  of  his  step-father,  while  being  cruelly  pun- 
ished by  the  latter. 


398  CHARLES  DICKENS 

There  was  an  old  door  in  this  playground,  on  which  the  boys 
had  a  custom  of  carving  their  names.  It  was  completely  cov- 
ered with  such  inscriptions.  In  my  dread  of  the  end  of  the 
vacation  and  their  coming  back,  I  could  not  read  a  boy's  name 
without  inquiring  in  what  tone  and  with  what  emphasis  he 
would  read,  "  Take  care  of  him.  He  bites."  There  was  one  boy 
— a  certain  J.  Steerforth — who  cut  his  name  very  deep  and  very 
often,  who,  I  conceived,  would  read  it  in  a  rather  strong  voice, 
and  afterward  pull  my  hair.  There  was  another  boy,  one 
Tommy  Traddles,  who  I  dreaded  would  make  game  of  it,  and 
pretend  to  be  dreadfully  frightened  of  me.  There  was  a  third, 
George  Demple,  who  I  fancied  would  sing  it.  I  have  looked, 
a  little  shrinking  creature,  at  that  door,  until  the  owners  of  all 
the  names — there  were  five-and-forty  of  them  in  the  school 
then,  Mr.  Mell  said — seemed  to  send  me  to  Coventry  by  general 
acclamation,  and  to  cry  out,  each  in  his  own  way,  "  Take  care 
of  him.  He  bites !  " 

It  was  the  same  with  the  places  at  the  desks  and  forms. 
It  was  the  same  with  the  groves  of  deserted  bedsteads  I  peeped 
at,  on  my  way  to,  and  when  I  was  in,  my  own  bed.  I  remem- 
ber dreaming  night  after  night,  of  being  v,dth  my  mother  as 
she  used  to  be,  or  of  going  to  a  party  at  Mr.  Peggotty's,  or  of 
traveling  outside  the  stage  coach,  or  of  dining  again  with  my 
unfortunate  friend  the  waiter,  and  in  all  these  circumstances 
making  people  scream  and  stare,  by  the  unhappy  disclosure 
that  I  had  nothing  on  but  my  little  nightshirt  and  that 
placard. 

In  the  monotony  of  my  life,  and  in  my  constant  apprehension 
of  the  re-opening  of  the  school,  it  was  such  an  insupportable 
affliction !  I  had  long  tasks  every  day  to  do  with  Mr.  Mell ; 
but  I  did  them,  there  being  no  Mr.  and  Miss  Murdstone  here, 
and  got  through  them  without  disgrace.  Before,  and  after 
them,  I  walked  about — supervised,  as  I  have  mentioned,  by  the 
man  with  the  wooden  leg.  How  vividly  I  call  to  mind  the 
damp  about  the  house,  the  green  cracked  flagstone  in  the  court, 
an  old  leaky  water-butt,  and  the  discolored  trunks  of  some  of  the 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  399 

grim  trees,  which  seemed  to  have  dripped  more  in  the  rain  than 
other  trees,  and  to  have  blown  less  in  the  sun !  At  one  we 
dined,  Mr.  Mell  and  I,  at  the  upper  end  of  a  long  bare  dining- 
room,  full  of  deal-tables,  and  smelling  of  fat.  Then,  we  had 
more  tasks  until  tea,  which  Mr.  Mell  drank  out  of  a  blue  tea- 
cup, and  I  out  of  a  tin  pot.  All  day  long,  and  until  seven  or 
eight  in  the  evening  Mr.  Mell,  at  his  own  detached  desk  in  the 
schoolroom,  worked  hard  with  pen,  ink,  ruler,  books,  and  writ- 
ing-paper, making  out  the  bills  (as  I  found)  for  last  half-year. 
When  he  had  put  up  his  things  for  the  night,  he  took  out  his 
flute,  and  blew  at  it,  until  I  almost  thought  he  would  gradually 
blow  his  whole  being  into  the  large  hole  at  the  top,  and  ooze 
away  at  the  keys.  •  , 

I  picture  my  small  self  in  the  dimly-lighted  rooms,  sitting 
with  my  head  upon  my  hand,  listening  to  the  doleful  perform- 
ance of  Mr.  Mell,  and  conning  to-morrow's  lessons.  I  picture 
myself  with  my  books  shut  up,  still  listening  to  the  doleful 
performance  of  Mr.  Mell,  and  listening  through  it  to  what  it 
used  to  be  at  home,  and  to  the  blowing  of  the  wind  on  Yar 
mouth  flats,  and  feeling  very  sad  and  solitary.  I  picture  my- 
self going  up  to  bed,  among  the  unused  rooms,  and  sitting  on 
my  bedside  crying  for  a  comfortable  word  from  Peggotty.  I 
picture  myself  coming  down-stairs  in  the  morning,  and  looking 
through  a  long  ghastly  gash  of  a  staircase  window  at  the  school- 
bell  hanging  on  the  top  of  an  outhouse  with  a  weather-cock 
above  it,  and  dreading  the  time  when  it  shall  ring  J.  Steerforth 
and  the  rest  to  work.  Such  time  is  only  second,  .in  my  fore- 
boding apprehensions,  to  the  time  when  the  man  with  the 
wooden  leg  shall  unlock  the  rusty  gate  to  give  admission  to 
the  awful  Mr.  Creakle.  I  cannot  think  I  was  a  very  dangerous 
character  in  any  of  these  aspects,  but  in  all  of  them  I  carried 
the  same  warning  on  my  back.  Mr.  Mell  never  said  much  to 
me,  but  he  was  never  harsh  to  me.  I  suppose  we  were  com- 
pany to  each  other,  without  talking.  I  forgot  to  mention  that 
he  would  talk  to  himself  sometimes,  and  grin,  and  clinch  his 
fist,  and  grind  his  teeth,  and  pull  his  hair  in  an  unaccountable 


400  CHARLES  DICKENS 

manner.     But  he  had  these  peculiarities.     At  first  they  fright- 
ened me,  though  I  soon  got  used  to  them. 


We  led  this  life  about  a  month,  when  the  man  with  the 
wooden  leg  began  to  stump  about  with  a  mop  and  bucket  of 
water,  from  which  I  inferred  that  preparations  were  making  to 
receive  Mr.  Creakle  and  the  boys.  I  was  not  mistaken,  for  the 
mop  came  into  the  schoolroom  before  long,  and  turned  out  Mr. 
Mell  and  me,  who  lived  where  we  could,  and  got  on  how  we 
could,  for  some  days,  during  which  we  were  always  in  the  way 
of  two  or  three  young  women,  who  had  rarely  shown  them- 
selves before,  and  were  so  continually  in  the  midst  of  dust  that 
I  sneezed  almost  as  much  as  if  Salem  House  had  been  a  great 
snuff-box. 

One  day  I  was  informed  by  Mr.  Mell  that  Mr.  Creakle  would 
be  home  that  evening.  In  the  evening,  after  tea,  I  heard  that 
he  was  come.  Before  bed-time  I  was  fetched  by  the  man  with 
ths  wooden  leg  to  appear  before  him. 

Mr.  Creakle's  part  of  the  house  was  a  good  deal  more  com- 
fortable than  ours,  and  he  had  a  snug  bit  of  garden  that  looked 
pleasant  after  the  dusty  playground,  which  was  such  a  desert 
in  miniature  that  I  thought  no  one  but  a  camel  or  a  dromedary 
could  have  felt  at  home  in  it.  It  seemed  to  me  a  bold  thing 
even  to  take  notice  that  the  passage  looked  comfortable,  as  I 
went  on  my  way,  trembling,  to  Mr.  Creakle's  presence,  which  so 
abashed  me,  when  I  was  ushered  into  it,  that  I  hardly  saw  Mrs. 
Creakle  or  Miss  Creakle  (who  were  both  there,  in  the  parlor),  or 
anything  but  Mr.  Creakle,  a  stout  gentleman,  with  a  bunch  of 
watch-chain  and  seals,  in  an  arm-chair,  with  a  tumbler  and 
bottle  beside  him. 

"  So ! "  said  Mr.  Creakle.  "  This  is  the  young  gentleman 
whose  teeth  are  to  be  filed !  Turn  him  round." 

The  wooden-legged  man  turned  me  about  so  as  to  exhibit 
the  placard;  and  having  afforded  time  for  a  full  survey  of  if, 
turned  me  about  again,  with  my  face  to  Mr.  Creakle,  and  posted 
himself  at  Mr.  Creakle's  side.  Mr.  Creakle's  face  was  fiery,  and 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  401 

his  eyes  were  small  and  deep  in  his  head ;  he  had  thick  veins  in 
his  forehead,  a  little  nose,  and  a  large  chin.  He  was  bald  on 
the  top  of  his  head,  and  had  some  thin  wet-looking  hair,  that 
was  just  turning  gray,  brushed  across  each  temple,  so  that  the 
two  sides  interlaced  on  his  forehead.  But  the  circumstance 
about  him  which  impressed  me  most,  was  that  he  had  no  voice, 
but  spoke  in  a  whisper.  The  exertion  this  cost  him,  or  the 
consciousness  of  talking  in  that  feeble  way,  made  his  angry 
face  so  much  more  angry,  and  his  thick  veins  so  much  thicker, 
when  he  spoke,  that  I  am  not  surprised,  on  looking  back,  at 
this  peculiarity  striking  me  as  his  chief  one. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Creakle,  "  what's  the  report  of  this  boy  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  against  him  yet,"  returned  the  man  with 
the  wooden  leg.  "  There  has  been  no  opportunity." 

I  thought  Mr.  Creakle  was  disappointed.  I  thought  that 
Mrs.  Creakle  and  Miss  Creakle  (at  whom  I  now  glanced  for  the 
first  time,  and  who  were,  both,  thin  and  quiet)  were  not  disap- 
pointed. 

"  Come  here,  sir !  "  said  Mr.  Creakle,  beckoning  to  me. 

"  Come  here  !  "  said  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg,  repeating 
the  gesture. 

"  I  have  the  happiness  of  knowing  your  father-in-law,"  whis- 
pered Mr.  Creakle,  taking  me  by  the  ear;  "and  a  worthy  man 
he  is,  and  a  man  of  a  strong  character.  He  knows  me,  and 
I  know  him.  Do  you  know  me  ?  Hey  ?  "  said  Mr.  Creakle, 
pinching  my  ear  with  ferocious  playfulness. 

"  Not  yet,  sir,"  I  said,  flinching  with  the  pain. 

"Not  yet?  Hey?"  repeated  Mr.  Creakle.  "But  you  will 
soon.  Hey  ?  " 

"  You  will  soon.  Hey  ?  "  repeated  the  man  with  the  wooden 
leg.  I  afterward  found  that  he  generally  acted,  with  his  strong, 
voice,  as  Mr.  Creakle's  interpreter  to  the  boys. 

I  was  very  much  frightened,  and  said  I  hoped  so,  if  ne 
pleased.  I  felt,  all  this  while,  as  if  my  ear  were  blazing;  he 
pinched  it  so  hard. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  am,"  whispered  Mr.  Creakle,  letting  it  go 
s.  M.— 26 


402  CHARLES  DICKENS 

at  last,  with  a  screw  at  parting  that  brought  the  water  into  my 
eyes.  "  I'm  a  Tartar." 

"  A  Tartar,"  said  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg. 

"  When  I  say  I'll  do  a  thing,  I  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Creakle ; 
"  and  when  I  say  I  will  have  a  thing  done,  I  will  have  it  done." 

"  Will  have  a  thing  done,  I  will  have  it  done,"  repeated  the 
man  with  the  wooden  leg. 

"  I  am  a  determined  character,"  said  Mr.  Creakle.  "  That's 
what  I  am.  I  do  my  duty ;  that's  what  /  do.  My  flesh  and 
blood,"  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Creakle  as  he  said  this,  "  when  it  rises 
against  me,  is  not  my  flesh  and  blood.  I  discard  it.  Has  that 
fellow,"  to  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg,  "  been  here  again  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  answer. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Creakle.  "  He  knows  better.  He  knows  me. 
Let  him  keep  away.  I  say  let  him  keep  away,"  said  Mr. 
Creakle,  striking  his  hand  upon  the  table,  and  looking  at  Mrs. 
Creakle,  "  for  he  knows  me.  Now  you  have  begun  to  know  me, 
too,  my  young  friend,  and  you  may  go.  Take  him  away." 

I  was  very  glad  to  be  ordered  away,  for  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Creakle  were  both  wiping  their  eyes,  and  I  felt  as  uncomfort- 
able for  them  as  I  did  for  myself.  But  I  had  a  petition  on  my 
mind  which  concerned  me  so  nearly,  that  I  couldn't  help  say- 
ing, though  I  wondered  at  my  own  courage : 

"  If  you  please,  sir— — " 

Mr.  Creakle  whispered :  "  Hah  !  What's  this  ?  "  and  bent  his 
eyes  upon  me,  as  if  he  would  have  burnt  me  up  with  them. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  I  faltered,  "  if  I  might  be  allowed  (I  am 
very  sorry,  indeed,  sir,  for  what  I  did)  to  take  this  writing  off, 
before  the  boys  came  back." 

Whether  Mr.  Creakle  was  in  earnest,  or  whether  he  only  did 
it  to  frighten  me,  I  don't  know,  but  he  made  a  burst  out  of  his 
chair,  before  which  I  precipitately  retreated,  without  waiting 
for  the  escort  of  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg,  and  never  once 
stopped  until  I  reached  my  own  bedroom,  where,  finding  I  was 
not  pursued,  I  went  to  bed,  as  it  was  time,  and  lay  quaking,  for 
a  couple  of  hours. 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  403 

Next  morning  Mr.  Sharp  came  back.  Mr.  Sharp  was  the 
first  master,  and  superior  to  Mr.  Mell.  Mr.  Mell  took  his 
meals  with  the  boys,  but  Mr.  Sharp  dined  and  supped  at  Mr. 
Creakle's  table.  He  was  a  limp,  delicate-looking  gentleman,  I 
thought,  with  a  good  deal  of  nose,  and  a  way  of  carrying  his 
head  on  one  side,  as  if  it  were  a  little  too  heavy  for  him.  His 
hair  was  very  smooth  and  wavy ;  but  I  was  informed  by  the 
very  first  boy  who  came  back  that  it  was  a  wig  (a  second-hand 
one  he  said),  and  that  Mr.  Sharp  went  out  every  Saturday  after- 
noon to  get  it  curled. 

It  was  no  other  than  Tommy  Traddles  who  gave  me  this 
piece  of  intelligence.  He  was  the  first  boy  who  returned.  He 
introduced  himself  by  informing  me  that  I  should  find  his 
name  on  the  right-hand  corner  of  the  gate,  over  the  top  bolt ; 
upon  that  I  said  "  Traddles  ?  "  to  which  he  replied,  "  The  same," 
and  then  he  asked  me  for  a  full  account  of  myself  and  family. 

It  was  a  happy  circumstance  for  me  that  Traddles  came  back 
first.  He  enjoyed  my  placard  so  much,  that  he  saved  me  from 
the  embarrassment  of  either  disclosure  or  concealment,  by  pre- 
senting me  to  every  other  boy  who  came  back,  great  or  small, 
immediately  on  his  arrival,  in  this  form  of  introduction,  "  Look 
here !  Here's  a  game !  "  Happily,  too,  the  greater  part  of  the 
boys  came  back  low  spirited,  and  were  not  so  boisterous  at  my 
expense  as  I  had  expected.  Some  of  them  certainly  did  dance 
about  me  like  wild  Indians,  and  the  greater  part  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  pretending  that  I  was  a  dog,  and 
patting  and  smoothing  me,  lest  I  should  bite,  and  saying,  "  Lie 
down,  sir !  "  and  calling  me  Towser.  This  was  naturally  con- 
fusing, among  so  many  strangers,  and  cost  me  some  tears,  but 
on  the  whole,  it  was  much  better  than  I  had  anticipated. 

I  was  not  considered  as  being  formally  received  into  the 
school,  however,  until  J.  Steerforth  arrived.  Before  this  boy, 
who  was  reputed  to  be  a  great  scholar,  and  was  very  good-look- 
ing, and  at  least  half  a  dozen  years  my  senior,  I  was  carried  as 
before  a  magistrate.  He  inquired,  under  a  shed  in  the  play- 
g*ound,  into  the  particulars  of  my  punishment,  and  was  pleased 


404  CHARLES  DICKENS 

to  express  his  opinion  that  it  was  a  "  jolly  shame,"  for  which  I 
became  bound  to  him  ever  afterward. 

"  What  money  have  you  got,  Copperfield?  "  he  said,  walking 
aside  with  me  when  he  had  disposed  of  my  affair  in  these 
terms. 

I  told  him  seven  shillings. 

"  You  had  better  give  it  to  me  to  take  care  of,"  he  said.  "  At 
least  you  can  if  you  like.  You  needn't  if  you  don't  like." 

I  hastened  to  comply  with  his  friendly  suggestion,  and  open- 
ing Peggotty's  purse,  turned  it  upside  down  into  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  want  to  spend  anything  now  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  I  replied. 

"  You  can,  if  you  like,  you  know,"  said  Steerforth.  "  Say  the 
word." 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  I  repeated. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  spend  a  couple  of  shillings  or  so,  in  a 
bottle  of  currant  wine  by  and  by,  up  in  the  bedroom  ?  "  said 
Steerforth.  "  You  belong  to  my  bedroom,  I  find." 

It  certainly  had  not  occurred  to  me  before,  but  I  said,  Yes,  I 
should  like  that. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Steerforth.  "  You'll  be  glad  to  spend 
another  shilling  or  so,  in  almond  cakes,  I  dare  say  ?  " 

I  said,  Yes,  I  should  like  that,  too. 

"  And  another  shilling  or  so  in  biscuits,  and  another  in  fruits, 
eh?"  said  Steerforth.  "I  say,  young  Copperfield,  you're 
going  it ! " 

I  smiled  because  he  smiled,  but  I  was  a  little  troubled  in  my 
mind,  too. 

"  Well !  "  said  Steerforth.  "  We  must  make  it  stretch  as  far  as 

\  ' 

we  can ;  that's  all.  I'll  do  the  best  in  my  power  for  you.  I 
can  go  out  when  I  like,  and  I'll  smuggle  the  prog  in."  With 
these  words  he  put  the  money  in  his  pocket,  and  kindly  told 
me  not  to  make  myself  uneasy ;  he  would  take  care  it  should  be 
all  right. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  if  that  were  all  right  which  I 
had  a  secret  misgiving  was  nearly  all  wrong — for  I  feared  it 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  405 

was  a  waste  of  my  mother's  two  half-crowns — though  I  had 
preserved  the  piece  of  paper  they  were  wrapped  in,  which  was  a 
precious  saving.  When  we  went  upstairs  to  bed,  he  produced 
the  whole  seven  shillings'  worth,  and  laid  it  out  on  my  bed  in 
the  moonlight,  saying : 

"There  you  are,  young  Copperfield,  and  a  royal  spread 
you've  got." 

I  couldn't  think  of  doing  the  honors  of  the  feast,  at  my  time 
of  life,  while  he  was  by ;  my  hand  shook  at  the  very  thought  of 
it.  I  begged  him  to  do  me  the  favor  of  presiding;  and  my 
request  being  seconded  by  the  other  boys  who  were  in  that 
room,  he  acceded  to  it,  and  sat  upon  my  pillow,  handing  round 
the  viands — with  perfect  fairness,  I  must  say — and  dispensing 
the  currant-wine  in  a  little  glass  without  a  foot,  which  was  his 
own  property.  As  to  me,  I  sat  on  his  left  hand,  and  the  rest 
were  grouped  about  us,  on  the  nearest  beds  and  on  the  floor. 

How  well  I  recollect  our  sitting  there,  talking  in  whispers ; 
or  their  talking,  and  my  respectfully  listening,  I  ought  rather 
to  say ;  the  moonlight  falling  a  little  way  into  the  room, 
through  the  window,  painting  a  pale  window  on  the  floor,  and 
the  greater  part  of  us  in  shadow,  except  when  Steerforth  dipped 
a  match  into  a  phosphorus  box,  when  he  wanted  to  look  for 
anything  on  the  board,  and  shed  a  blue  glare  over  us  that  was 
gone  directly !  A  certain  mysterious  feeling,  consequent  on  the 
darkness,  the  secrecy  of  the  revel,  and  the  whisper  in  which 
everything  was  said,  steals  over  me  again,  and  I  listen  to  all 
they  tell  me  with  a  vague  feeling  of  solemnity  and  awe,  which 
makes  me  glad  that  they  are  all  so  near,  and  frightens  me 
(though  I  feign  to  laugh)  when  Traddles  pretends  to  see  a 
ghost  in  the  corner. 

I  heard  all  kinds  of  things  about  the  school  and  all  belong- 
ing to  it.  I  heard  that  Mr.  Creakle  had  not  preferred  his  claim 
to  being  a  Tartar  without  reason  ;  that  he  was  the  sternest  and 
most  severe  of  masters ;  that  he  laid  about  him  right  and  left 
every  day  of  his  life,  charging  in  among  the  boys  like  a  trooper, 
and  slashing  away  unmercifully.  That  he  knew  nothing  him- 


406  CHARLES  DICKENS 

self,  but  the  art  of  slashing,  being  more  ignorant  (J.  Steerforth 
said)  than  the  lowest  boy  in  the  school ;  that  he  had  been,  a 
good  many  years  ago,  a  small  hop  dealer  in  the  Borough,  and 
had  taken  to  the  schooling  business  after  being  bankrupt  in 
hops,  and  making  away  with  Mrs.  Creakle's  money.  With  a 
good  deal  more  of  that  sort,  which  I  wondered  how  they  knew. 

I  heard  that  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg,  whose  name  was 
Tungay,  was  an  obstinate  barbarian  who  had  formerly  assisted 
in  the  hop  business,  but  had  come  into  the  scholastic  line  with 
Mr.  Creakle,  in  consequence,  as  was  supposed  among  the  boys, 
of  his  having  broken  his  leg  in  Mr.  Creakle's  service,  and  hav- 
ing done  a  deal  of  dishonest  work  for  him,  and  knowing  his 
secrets.  I  heard  that  with  the  single  exception  of  Mr.  Creakle, 
Tungay  considered  the  whole  establishment,  masters  and  boys, 
as  his  natural  enemies,  and  that  the  only  delight  of  his  life  was 
to  be  sour  and  malicious.  I  heard  that  Mr.  Creakle  had  a  son, 
who  had  not  been  Tungay's  friend,  and  who,  assisting  in  the 
school,  had  once  held  some  remonstrance  with  his  father  on  an 
occasion  when  its  discipline  was  very  cruelly  exercised,  and  was 
supposed,  besides,  to  have  protested  against  his  father's  usage 
of  his  mother.  I  heard  that  Mr.  Creakle  had  turned  him  out 
of  doors  in  consequence,  and  that  Mrs.  and  Miss  Creakle  had 
been  in  a  sad  way  ever  since. 

But  the  greatest  wonder  that  I  heard  of  Mr.  Creakle  was,  there 
being  one  boy  in  the  school  on  whom  he  never  ventured  to  lay 
a  hand,  and  that  boy  being  J.  Steerforth.  Steerforth  himself 
confirmed  this  when  it  was  stated,  and  said  that  he  should  like 
to  begin  to  see  him  do  it.  On  being  asked  by  a  mild  boy  (not 
me)  how  he  would  proceed  if  he  did  begin  to  see  him  do  it,  he 
dipped  a  match  into  his  phosphorus  box  on  purpose  to  shed  a 
glare  over  his  reply,  and  said  he  would  commence  by  knocking 
him  down  with  a  blow  on  the  forehead  from  his  seven-and-six- 
penny  ink  bottle  that  was  always  on  the  mantelpiece.  We  sat 
in  the  dark  for  some  time  breathless. 

I  heard  that  Mr.  Sharp  and  Mr.  Mell  were  both  supposed  to 
be  wretchedly  paid ;  and  that  when  there  was  hot  and  cold 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  407 

meat  for  dinner  at  Mr.  Creakle's  table,  Mr.  Sharp  was  always 
expected  to  say  he  preferred  cold ;  which  was  again  corrobo- 
rated by  J.  Steerforth,  the  only  parlor-boarder.  I  heard  that 
Mr.  Sharp's  wig  didn't  fit  him;  and  that  he  needn't  be  so 
"bounceable" — somebody  else  said  "bumptious" — about  it, 
because  his  own  red  hair  was  very  plainly  to  be  seen  behind. 

I  heard  that  one  boy,  who  was  a  coal  merchant's  son,  came 
as  a  set-off  against  the  coal  bill,  and  was  called  on  that  account, 
"  Exchange  or  Barter  " — a  name  selected  from  the  arithmetic- 
book,  as  expressing  this  arrangement.  I  heard  that  the  table- 
beer  was  a  robbery  of  parents,  and  the  pudding  an  imposition. 
I  heard  that  Miss  Creakle  was  regarded  by  the  school  in  general 
as  being  in  love  with  Steerforth ;  and  I  am  sure,  as  I  sat  in  the 
dark,  thinking  of  his  nice  voice,  and  his  fine  face,  and  his  easy 
manner,  and  his  curling  hair,  I  thought  it  very  likely.  I  heard 
that  Mr.  Mell  was  not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow,  but  hadn't  a  sixpence 
to  bless  himself  with  ;  and  that  there  was  no  doubt  that  old 
Mrs.  Mell,  his  mother,  was  as  poor  as  Job.  I  thought  of  my 
breakfast  then,  and  what  had  sounded  like  "  My  Charlie !  "  but 
I  was,  I  am  glad  to  remember,  as  mute  as  a  mouse  about  it. 

The  hearing  of  all  this,  and  a  good  deal  more,  outlasted  the 
banquet  some  time.  The  greater  part  of  the  guests  had  gone 
to  bed  as  soon  as  the  eating  and  drinking  were  over ;  and  we, 
who  had  remained  whispering  and  listening,  half  undressed,  at 
last  betook  ourselves  to  bed,  too. 

"  Good-night,  young  Gopperfield,"  said  Steerforth.  "  I'll  take 
care  of  you." 

"  You're  very  kind,"  I  gratefully  returned.  "  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you." 

"  You  haven't  got  a  sister,  have  you  ?  "  said  Steerforth,  yawn- 
ing. 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  That's  a  pity,"  said  Steerforth.  "  If  you  had  had  one,  I 
should  think  she  would  have  been  a  pretty,  timid,  little  bright- 
eyed  sort  of  a  girl.  I  should  have  liked  to  know  her.  Good- 
night, young  Copperfield." 


408  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  I  replied. 

I  thought  of  him  very  much  after  I  went  to  bed,  and  raised 
myself,  I  recollect,  to  look  at  him  where  he  lay  in  the  moon- 
light, with  his  handsome  face  turned  up,  and  his  head  reclining 
easily  on  his  arm.  He  was  a  person  of  great  power  in  my  eyes ; 
that  was,  of  course,  the  reason  of  my  mind  running  on  him. 
No  veiled  future  dimly  glanced  upon  him  in  the  moonbeams. 
There  was  no  shadowy  picture  of  his  footsteps  in  the  garden 
that  I  dreamed  of  walking  in  all  night. 

School  began  in  earnest  next  day.  A  profound  impression 
was  made  upon  me,  I  remember,  by  the  roar  of  voices  in  the 
schoolroom  suddenly  becoming  hushed  as  death  when  Mr. 
Creakle  entered  after  breakfast,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  look- 
ing round  upon  us  like  a  giant  in  a  story-book  surveying  his 
captives. 

Tungay  stood  at  Mr.  Creakle's  elbow.  He  had  no  occasion, 
I  thought,  to  cry  out  "  Silence ! "  so  ferociously,  for  the  boys 
were  all  struck  speechless  and  motionless. 

Mr.  Creakle  was  seen  to  speak,  and  Tungay  was  heard,  to  this 
effect : 

"  Now,  boys,  this  is  a  new  half.  Take  care  what  you're  about 
in  this  new  half.  Come  fresh  up  to  the  lessons,  I  advise  you, 
for  I  come  fresh  up  to  the  punishment.  I  won't  flinch.  It  will 
be  of  no  use  you  rubbing  yourselves ;  you  won't  rub  the  marks 
out,  that  I  shall  give  you.  Now  get  to  work,  every  boy." 

When  this  dreadful  exordium  was  over,  and  Tungay  had 
stumped  out  again,  Mr.  Creakle  came  to  where  I  sat,  and  told  me 
that  if  I  were  famous  for  biting,  he  was  famous  for  biting,  too. 
He  then  showed  me  the  cane,  and  asked  me  what  I  thought  of 
that  for  a  tooth  ?  Was  it  a  sharp  tooth,  hey  ?  Was  it  a  double 
tooth,  hey  ?  Had  it  a  deep  prong,  hey  ?  Did  it  bite,  hey?  Did 
it  bite?  At  every  question  he  gave  me  a  fleshy  cut  with  it 
that  made  me  writhe ;  so  I  was  very  soon  made  free  of  Salem 
llouse  (as  Steerforth  said),  and  was  very  soon  in  tears  also. 

Not  that  I  mean  to  say  these  were  special  marks  of  distinction, 
which  only  I  received.  On  the  contrary,  a  large  majority  of  the 


THE  SCHOOL   AT  SALEM  HOUSE  409 

boys  (especially  the  smaller  ones)  were  visited  with  similar  in- 
stances of  notice,  as  Mr.  Creakle  made  the  round  of  the  school- 
room. Half  the  establishment  was  writhing  and  crying,  before 
the  day's  work  began ;  and  how  much  of  it  had  writhed  and 
cried  before  the  day's  work  was  over,  I  am  really  afraid  to 
recollect,  lest  I  should  seem  to  exaggerate. 

I  should  think  there  never  can  have  been  a  man  who  enjoyed 
his  profession  more  than  Mr.  Creakle  did.  He  had  a  delight  in 
cutting  at  the  boys,  which  was  like  the  satisfaction  of  a  craving 
appetite.  I  am  confident  that  he  couldn't  resist  a  chubby  boy, 
especially ;  that  there  was  a  fascination  in  such  a  subject,  which 
made  him  restless  in  his  mind  until  he  had  scored  and  marked 
him  for  the  day.  I  was  chubby  myself,  and  ought  to  know.  I 
am  sure  when  I  think  of  the  fellow  now,  my  blood  rises  against 
him  with  the  disinterested  indignation  I  should  feel  if  I  could 
have  known  all  about  him  without  having  ever  been  in  his 
power ;  but  it  rises  hotly,  because  I  know  him  to  have  been  an 
incapable  brute,  who  had  no  more  right  to  be  possessed  of  the 
great  trust  he  held  than  to  be  Lord  High  Admiral,  or  Com- 
mander-in-chief— in  either  of  which  capacities,  it  is  probable, 
that  he  would  have  done  infinitely  less  mischief. 

Miserable  little  propitiators  of  a  remorseless  Idol,  how  abject 
we  were  to  him !  What  a  launch  in  life  I  think  it  now,  on 
looking  back,  to  be  so  mean  and  servile  to  a  man  of  such  parts 
and  pretensions ! 

Here  I  sit  at  the  desk  again,  watching  his  eye — humbly 
watching  his  eye,  as  he  rules  a  ciphering  book  for  another  vic- 
tim whose  hands  have  just  been  flattened  by  that  identical 
ruler,  and  who  is  trying  to  wipe  the  sting  out  with  a  pocket 
handkerchief.  I  have  plenty  to  do.  I  don't  watch  his  eye  in 
idleness,  but  because  I  am  morbidly  attracted  to  it,  in  a  dread 
desire  to  know  what  he  will  do  next,  and  whether  it  will  be  my 
turn  to  suffer  or  somebody  else's.  A  lane  of  small  boys  beyond 
me,  with  the  same  interest  in  his  eye,  watch  it  too.  I  think  he 
knows  it,  though  he  pretends  he  don't.  He  makes  dreadful 
mouths  as  he  rules  the  ciphering  book ;  and  now  he  throws  his 


410  CHARLES  DICKENS 

eye  sideways  down  our  lane,  and  we  all  droop  over  our  books 
and  tremble.  A  moment  afterward  we  are  again  eying  him. 
An  unhappy  culprit,  found  guilty  of  imperfect  exercise,  ap- 
proaches at  his  command.  The  culprit  falters,  excuses,  and 
professes  a  determination  to  do  better  to-morrow.  Mr.  Creakle 
cuts  a  joke  before  he  beats  him,  and  we  laugh  at  it — miserable 
little  dogs,  we  laugh,  with  our  visages  as  white  as  ashes,  and 
our  hearts  sinking  into  our  boots. 

Here  I  sit  at  the  desk  again  on  a  drowsy  summer  afternoon. 
A  buzz  and  a  hum  go  up  around  me,  as  if  the  boys  were  so 
many  blue  bottles.  A  cloggy  sensation  of  the  luke-warm  fat  of 
meat  is  upon  me  (we  dined  an  hour  or  two  ago)  and  my  head  is 
as  heavy  as  so  much  lead.  I  would  give  the  world  to  go  to 
sleep.  I  sit  with  my  eye  on  Mr.  Creakle,  blinking  at  him  like 
a  young  owl ;  when  sleep  overpowers  me  for  a  minute,  he  still 
looms  through  my  slumber,  ruling  those  ciphering  books,  until 
he  softly  comes  behind  me  and  wakes  me  to  plainer  percep- 
tion of  him  with  a  red  ridge  across  my  back. 

Here  I  am  in  the  playground,  with  my  eye  still  fascinated  by 
him,  though  I  can't  see  him.  The  window  at  a  little  distance 
from  which  I  know  he  is  having  his  dinner,  stands  for  him, 
and  I  eye  that  instead.  If  he  shows  his  face  near  it,  mine 
assumes  an  imploring  and  submissive  expression.  If  he  looks 
out  through  the  glass,  the  boldest  boy  (Steerforth  excepted) 
stops  in  the  middle  of  a  shout  or  yell,  and  becomes  contempla- 
tive. One  day,  Traddles  (the  most  unfortunate  boy  in  the 
world)  breaks  that  window  accidentally  with  a  ball.  I  shudder 
at  this  moment  with  the  tremendous  sensation  of  seeing  it  done, 
and  feeling  that  the  ball  has  bounded  on  to  Mr.  Creakle's  sacred 
head. 

Poor  Traddles !  In  a  tight  sky-blue  suit  that  made  his  arms 
and  legs  like  German  sausages  or  roly-poly  puddings,  he  was 
the  merriest  and  most  miserable  of  all  the  boys.  He  was  always 
being  caned — I  think  he  was  caned  every  day  that  half-year, 
except  one  holiday  Monday  when  he  was  only  ruler'd  on  both 
hands — and  was  always  going  to  write  to  his  uncle  about  it, 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  411 

and  never  did.  After  laying  his  head  on  the  desk  for  a  little 
while,  he  would  cheer  up  somehow,  begin  to  laugh  again,  and 
draw  skeletons  all  over  his  slate,  before  his  eyes  were  dry.  I 
used  at  first  to  wonder  what  comfort  Traddles  found  in  draw- 
ing skeletons ;  and  for  some  time  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of 
hermit,  who  reminded  himself  of  those  symbols  of  mortality 
that  caning  couldn't  last  for  ever.  But  I  believe  he  only  did 
it  because  they  were  easy,  and  didn't  want  any  features. 

He  was  very  honorable,  Traddles  was,  and  held  it  as  a  solemn 
duty  in  the  boys  to  stand  by  one  another.  He  suffered  for  this 
on  several  occasions;  and  particularly  once,  when  Steerforth 
laughed  in  church,  and  the  Beadle  thought  it  was  Traddles, 
and  took  him  out.  I  see  him  now  going  away  in  custody,  de- 
spised by  the  congregation.  He  never  said  who  was  the  real 
offender,  though  he  smarted  for  it  next  day,  and  was  impris- 
oned so  many  hours  that  he  came  forth  with  a  whole  church- 
yardful  of  skeletons  swarming  all  over  his  Latin  dictionary. 
But  he  had  his  reward.  Steerforth  said  there  was  nothing  of 
the  sneak  in  Traddles,  and  we  all  felt  that  to  be  the  highest 
praise.  For  my  part,  I  could  have  gone  through  a  good  deal 
(though  I  was  much  less  brave  than  Traddles,  and  nothing  like 
so  old)  to  have  won  such  a  recompense. 

To  see  Steerforth  walk  to  church  before  us,  arm-in-arm  with 
Miss  Creakle,  was  one  of  the  great  sights  of  my  life.  I  didn't 
think  Miss  Creakle  equal  to  little  Em'ly  in  point  of  beauty,  and 
I  didn't  love  her  (I  didn't  dare) ;  but  I  thought  her  a  young 
lady  of  extraordinary  attractions,  and  in  point  of  gentility  not 
to  be  surpassed.  When  Steerforth,  in  white  trousers,  carried 
her  parasol  for  her,  I  felt  proud  to  know  him ;  and  believed  that 
she  could  not  choose  but  adore  him  with  all  her  heart.  Mr. 
Sharp  and  Mr.  Mell  were  both  notable  personages  in  my  eyes ; 
but  Steerforth  was  to  them  what  the  sun  was  to  two  stars. 

Steerforth  continued  his  protection  of  me,  and  proved  a  very 
useful  friend,  since  nobody  dared  to  annoy  one  whom  he 
honored  with  his  countenance.  He  couldn't — or  at  all  events 
he  didn't — defend  me  from  Mr.  Creakle,  who  was  very  severe 


412  CHARLES  DICKENS 

with  me ;  but  whenever  I  had  been  treated  worse  than  usual, 
he  always  told  me  that  I  wanted  a  little  of  his  pluck,  and  that 
he  wouldn't  have  stood  it  himself ;  which  I  felt  he  intended  for 
encouragement,  and  considered  to  be  very  kind  of  him.  There 
was  one  advantage,  and  only  one  that  I  knew  of,  in  Mr. 
Creakle's  severity.  He  found  my  placard  in  his  way  when  he 
came  up  or  down  behind  the  form  on  which  I  sat,  and  wanted 
to  make  a  cut  at  me  in  passing ;  for  this  reason  it  was  soon 
taken  off,  and  I  saw  it  no  more. 

An  accidental  circumstance  cemented  the  intimacy  between 
Steerforth  and  me,  in  a  manner  that  inspired  me  with  great 
pride  and  satisfaction,  though  it  sometimes  led  to  inconveni- 
ence. It  happened  on  one  occasion,  when  he  was  doing  me  the 
honor  of  talking  to  me  in  the  playground,  that  I  hazarded  the 
observation  that  something  or  somebody — I  forgot  what  now — 
was  like  something  or  somebody  in  "  Peregrine  Pickle."  He 
said  nothing  at  the  time;  but  when  I  was  going  to  bed  at 
night,  asked  me  if  I  had  got  that  book?  I  told  him  no,  and 
explained  how  it  was  that  I  had  read  it,  and  all  those  other 
books  of  which  I  have  made  mention. 

"  And  do  you  recollect  them  ?  "  Steerforth  said. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  "  I  replied,  I  had  a  good  memory,  and  I  believed  I 
recollected  them  very  well. 

"  Then  I  tell  you  what,  young  Copperfield,"  said  Steerforth, 
"  you  shall  tell  'em  to  me.  I  can't  get  to  sleep  very  early  at 
night,  and  I  generally  wake  rather  early  in  the  morning. 
We'll  go  over  'em  one  after  another.  We'll  make  some  regular 
'Arabian  Nights'  of  it." 

I  felt  extremely  flattered  by  this  arrangement,  and  we  com- 
menced carrying  it  into  execution  that  very  evening.  What 
ravages  I  committed  on  my  favorite  authors  in  the  course  of 
my  interpretation  of  them,  I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  say,  and 
should  be  very  unwilling  to  know ;  but  I  had  a  profound  faith 
in  them,  and  I  had,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  a  simple  earnest 
manner  of  narrating  what  I  did  narrate ;  and  these  qualities 
went  a  long  way. 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  413 

The  drawback  was,  that  I  was  often  sleepy  at  night,  or  out  of 
spirits  and  indisposed  to  resume  the  story,  and  then  it  was 
rather  hard  work,  and  it  must  be  done ;  for  to  disappoint  or  to 
displease  Steerforth  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question.  In  the 
morning,  too,  when  I  felt  weary,  and  should  have  enjoyed  an- 
other hour's  repose  very  much,  it  was  a  tiresome  thing  to  be 
roused,  like  the  Sultana  Scheherazade,  and  forced  into  a  long 
story  before  the  getting-up  bell  rang ;  but  Steerforth  was  reso- 
lute ;  and  as  he  explained  to  me,  in  return,  my  sums  and  exer- 
cises, and  anything  in  my  tasks  that  was  too  hard  for  me, 
I  was  no  loser  by  the  transaction.  Let  me  do  myself  justice, 
however.  I  was  moved  by  no  interest  or  selfish  motive,  nor 
was  I  moved  by  fear  of  him.  I  admired  and  loved  him,  and 
his  approval  was  return  enough.  It  was  so  precious  to  me, 
that  I  look  back  on  these  trifles,  now,  with  an  aching  heart. 

Steerforth  was  considerate,  too,  and  showed  his  consideration, 
in  one  particular  instance  in  an  unflinching  manner,  and  was 
a  little  tantalizing,  I  suspect,  to  poor  Traddles  and  the  rest. 
Peggotty's  promised  letter — what  a  comfortable  letter  it  was !  — 
arrived  before  "  the  half "  was  many  weeks  old,  and  with  it  a 
cake  in  a  perfect  nest  of  oranges,  and  two  bottles  of  cowslip 
wine.  This  treasure,  as  in  duty  bound,  I  laid  at  the  feet  of 
Steerforth,  and  begged  him  to  dispense. 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what,  young  Copperfield,"  said  he :  "  the 
wine  shall  be  kept  to  wet  your  whistle  when  you  are  story- 
telling." 

I  blushed  at  the  idea,  and  begged  him,  in  my  modesty,  not  to 
think  of  it.  But  he  said  he  had  observed  I  was  sometimes 
hoarse — a  little  roopy  was  his  exact  expression — and  it  should 
be,  every  drop,  devoted  to  the  purpose  he  had  mentioned. 
Accordingly,  it  was  locked  up  in  his  box,  and  drawn  off  by 
himself  in  a  vial,  and  administered  to  me  through  a  piece  of 
quill  in  the  cork,  when  I  was  supposed  to  be  in  want  of  a 
restorative.  Sometimes  to  make  it  a  more  sovereign  specific, 
he  was  so  kind  as  to  squeeze  orange  juice  into  it,  or  to  stir 
it  up  with  ginger,  or  dissolve  a  peppermint  drop  in  it ;  and 


414  CHARLES  DICKENS 

although  I  cannot  assert  that  the  flavor  was  improved  by  these 
experiments,  or  that  it  was  exactly  the  compound  one  would 
have  chosen  for  a  stomachic,  the  last  thing  at  night  and  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  I  drank  it  gratefully,  and  was  very 
sensible  of  his  attention. 

We  seem  to  me  to  have  been  months  over  "  Peregrine,"  and 
months  more  over  the  other  stories.  The  institution  never 
flagged  for  want  of  a  story,  I  am  certain,  and  the  wine  lasted 
out  almost  as  well  as  the  matter.  Poor  Traddles — I  never 
think  of  that  boy  but  with  a  strange  disposition  to  laugh,  and 
with  tears  in  my  eyes — was  a  sort  of  chorus,  in  general,  and 
affected  to  be  convulsed  with  mirth  at  the  comic  parts,  and  to 
be  overcome  with  fear  when  there  was  any  passage  of  an  alarm- 
ing character  to  the  narrative.  This  rather  put  me  out  very 
often.  It  was  a  great  jest  of  his,  I  recollect,  to  pretend  that  he 
couldn't  keep  his  teeth  from  chattering  whenever  mention  was 
made  of  an  Alguazil  in  connection  with  the  adventures  of  Gil 
Bias ;  and  I  remember  that  when  Gil  Bias  met  the  captain  of 
the  robbers  in  Madrid,  this  unlucky  joker  counterfeited  such 
an  ague  of  terror  that  he  was  overheard  by  Mr.  Creakle,  who 
was  prowling  about  the  passage,  and  handsomely  flogged  for 
disorderly  conduct  in  the  bedroom. 

Whatever  I  had  within  me  that  was  romantic  and  dreanr^, 
was  encouraged  by  so  much  story-telling  in  the  dark ;  and  in 
that  respect  the  pursuit  may  not  have  been  very  profitable  to 
me.  But  the  being  cherished  as  a  kind  of  plaything  in  my 
room,  and  the  consciousness  that  this  accomplishment  of  mine 
was  bruited  about  among  the  boys,  and  attracted  a  good  deal 
of  notice  to  me,  though  I  was  the  youngest  there,  stimulated 
me  to  exertion.  In  a  school  carried  on  by  sheer  cruelty, 
whether  it  is  presided  over  by  a  dunce  or  not,  there  is  not  likely 
to  be  much  learned.  I  believe  our  boys  were,  generally,  as 
ignorant  a  set  as  any  schoolboys  in  existence;  they  were  too 
much  troubled  and  knocked  about  to  learn ;  they  could  no  more 
do  that  to  advantage  than  any  one  can  do  anything  to  ad- 
vantage in  a  life  of  constant  misfortune,  torment,  and  worry. 


TEE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  415 

But  my  little  vanity,  and  Steerforth's  help,  urged  me  on  some- 
how ;  and  without  saving  me  from  much,  if  anything,  in  the 
way  of  punishment,  made  me,  for  the  time  I  was  there,  an 
exception  to  the  general  body,  insomuch  that  I  did  steadily  pick 
up  some  crumbs  of  knowledge. 

In  this  I  was  much  assisted  by  Mr.  Mell,  who  had  a  liking 
for  me  that  I  am  grateful  to  remember.  It  always  gave  me  pain 
to  observe  that  Steerforth  treated  him  with  systematic  disparage- 
ment, and  seldom  lost  an  occasion  of  wounding  his  feelings,  or 
inducing  others  to  do  so.  This  troubled  me  the  more  for  a  long 
time,  because  I  had  soon  told  Steerforth,  from  whom  I  could  no 
more  keep  such  a  secret  than  I  could  keep  a  cake  or  any  other 
tangible  possession,  about  the  two  old  women  Mr.  Mell  had 
taken  me  to  see ;  and  I  was  always  afraid  that  Steerforth  would 
let  it  out,  and  twit  him  with  it. 

We  little  thought,  any  one  of  us,  I  dare  say,  when  I  ate  my 
breakfast  that  first  morning,  and  went  to  sleep  under  the 
shadow  of  the  peacock's  feathers  to  the  sound  of  the  flute,  what 
consequences  would  come  of  the  introduction  into  those  alms- 
houses  of  my  insignificant  person.  But  the  visit  had  its  unfore- 
seen consequences ;  and  of  a  serious  sort,  too,  in  their  wTay. 

One  day  when  Mr.  Creakle  kept  the  house  from  indisposition, 
which  naturally  diffused  a  lively  joy  through  the  school,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  noise  in  the  course  of  the  morning's  work. 
The  great  relief  and  satisfaction  experienced  by  the  boys  made 
them  difficult  to  manage;  and  though  the  dreaded  Tungay 
brought  his  wooden  leg  in  twice  or  thrice,  and  took  notes  of  the 
principal  offenders' names,  no  great  impression  was  made  by 
it,  as  they  were  pretty  sure  of  getting  into  trouble  to-morrow, 
do  what  they  would,  and  thought  it  wise,  no  doubt,  to  enjoy 
themselves  to-day. 

It  was,  properly,  a  half  holiday,  being  Saturday.  But  as  the 
noise  in  the  playground  would  have  disturbed  Mr.  Creakle,  and 
the  weather  was  not  favorable  for  going  out  walking,  we  were 
ordered  into  school  in  the  afternoon,  and  set  some  lighter  tasks 
than  usual,  which  were  made  for  the  occasion.  It  was  the  day 


416  CHARLES  DICKENS 

of  the  week  on  which  Mr.  Sharp  went  out  to  get  his  wig  curled  ; 
so  Mr.  Mell,  who  always  did  the  drudgery,  whatever  it  was,  kept 
school  by  himself. 

If  I  could  associate  the  idea  of  a  bull  or  a  bear  with  any  one 
so  mild  as  Mr.  Mell,  I  should  think  of  him  in  connection  with 
that  afternoon  when  the  uproar  was  at  its  height,  as  of  one  of 
those  animals,  baited  by  a  thousand  dogs.  I  recall  him  bend- 
ing his  aching  head,  supported  on  his  bony  hand  over  the  book 
on  his  desk,  and  wretchedly  endeavoring  to  get  on  with  his  tire- 
some work  amidst  an  uproar  that  might  have  made  the  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons  giddy.  Boys  started  in  and  out  of 
their  places  playing  at  puss-in-the-corner  with  other  boys ;  there 
were  laughing  boys,  singing  boys,  talking  boys,  dancing  boys, 
howling  boys ;  boys  shuffled  with  their  feet,  boys  whirled  about 
him,  grinning,  making  faces,  mimicking  him  behind  his  back 
and  before  his  eyes ;  mimicking  his  poverty,  his  boots,  his  coat, 
his  mother,  everything  belonging  to  him  that  they  should  have 
had  consideration  for. 

"  Silence ! "  cried  Mr.  Mell,  suddenly  rising  up,  and  striking 
his  desk  with  the  book.  "  What  does  this  mean  ?  It's  impos- 
sible to  bear  it.  It's  maddening.  How  can  you  do  it  to  me, 
boys?" 

It  was  my  book  that  he  struck  his  desk  with;  and  as  I  stood 
beside  him,  following  his  eye  as  it  glanced  round  the  room,  I 
saw  the  boys  all  stop,  some  suddenly  surprised,  some  half  afraid, 
and  some  sorry,  perhaps. 

Steerforth's  place  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  school  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  long  room.  He  was  lounging  with  his  back 
against  the  wall,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  looked  at 
Mr.  Mell  with  his  mouth  shut  up  as  if  he  were  whistling,  when 
Mr.  Mell  looked  at  him. 

"  Silence,  Mr.  Steerforth !  "  said  Mr.  Mell. 

"  Silence  yourself,"  said  Steerforth,  turning  red.  "  Whom 
are  you  talking  to?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Mell. 

"  Sit  down  yourself,"  said  Steerforth, "  and  mind  your  business." 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  417 

There  was  a  titter,  and  some  applause ;  but  Mr.  Mell  was  so 
white  that  silence  immediately  succeeded ;  and  one  boy,  who 
had  darted  out  behind  him  to  imitate  his  mother  again,  changed 
his  mind,  and  pretended  to  want  a  pen  mended. 

"  If  you  think,  Steerforth,"  said  Mr.  Mell,  "  that  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted with  the  power  you  can  establish  over  any  mind 
here  " — he  laid  his  hand,  without  considering  what  he  did  (as 
I  supposed),  upon  my  head — "  or  that  I  have  not  observed  you, 
within  a  few  minutes,  urging  your  juniors  on  to  every  sort  of 
outrage  against  me,  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  don't  give  myself  the  trouble  of  thinking  at  all  about 
you,"  said  Steerforth,  coolly ;  "  so  I'm  not  mistaken,  as  it  hap- 
pens." 

"  And  when  you  make  use  of  your  position  of  favoritism  here 
sir,"  pursued  Mr.  Mell,  with  his  lip  trembling  very  much,  "  to 
insult  a  gentleman " 

"  A  what  ? — where  is  he  ?  "  said  Steerforth. 

Here  somebody  cried  out,  "  Shame,  J.  Steerforth !  Too 
bad!"  It  was  Trad  dies  ;  whom  Mr.  Mell  instantly  discomfited 
by  bidding  him  hold  his  tongue. 

— "  To  insult  one  who  is  not  fortunate  in  life,  sir,  and  who 
never  gave  you  the  least  offense,  and  the  many  reasons  for  not 
insulting  whom  you  are  old  enough  and  wise  enough  to  under- 
stand," said  Mr.  Mell,  with  his  lip  trembling  more  and  more, 
"  you  commit  a  mean  and  base  action.  You  can  sit  down  or 
stand  up  as  you  please,  sir.  Copperfield,  go  on." 

"  Young  Copperfield,"  said  Steerforth,  coming  forward  up  the 
room,  "stop  a  bit.  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Mell,  once  for  all. 
When  you  take  the  liberty  of  calling  me  mean  or  base,  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort,  you  are  an  impudent  beggar.  You  are 
always  a  beggar,  you  know ;  but  when  you  do  that,  you  are  an 
impudent  beggar." 

I  am  not  clear  whether  he  was  going  to  strike  Mr.  Mell,  or 
Mr.  Mell  was  going  to  strike  him,  or  there  was  any  such  inten- 
tion on  either  side.  I  saw  a  rigidity  come  upon  the  whole  school 
as  if  they  had  been  turned  into  stone,  and  found  Mr.  Creakle 
a  JL— 27 


418  CHARLES  DICKENS 

in  the  midst  of  us,  with  Tungay  at  his  side,  and  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Creakle  looking  on  at  the  door  as  if  they  were  frightened.  Mr. 
Mell,  with  his  elbows  on  his  desk  and  his  face  in  his  hands, 
sat,  for  some  moments,  quite  still. 

"  Mr.  Mell,"  said  Mr.  Creakle,  shaking  him  by  the  arm ;  and  his 
whisper  was  so  audible  now,  that  Tungay  felt  it  unnecessary  to 
repeat  his  words ;  "  you  have  not  forgotten  yourself,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  no,"  returned  the  Master,  showing  his  face  and 
shaking  his  head,  and  rubbing  his  hands  in  great  agitation. 
"  No,  sir,  no.  I  have  remembered  myself,  I — no,  Mr.  Creakle,  I 
have  not  forgotten  myself,  I — I  have  remembered  myself,  sir. 
I — I — could  wish  you  had  remembered  me  a  little  sooner,  Mr. 
Creakle.  It — it — would  have  been  more  kind,  sir,  more  just, 
sir.  It  would  have  saved  me  something,  sir." 

Mr.  Creakle,  looking  hard  at  Mr.  Mell,  put  his  hand  on  Tun- 
gay's  shoulder,  and  got  his  feet  upon  the  form  close  by,  and  sat 
upon  the  desk.  After  still  looking  hard  at  Mr.  Mell  from  this 
throne,  as  he  shook  his  head  and  rubbed  his  hands,  and  re- 
mained in  the  same  state  of  agitation,  Mr.  Creakle  turned  to 
Steerforth,  and  said : 

"  Now,  sir,  as  he  don't  condescend  to  tell  me,  what  is  this  ?  " 

Steerforth  evaded  the  question  for  a  little  while ;  looking  in 
scorn  and  anger  on  his  opponent,  and  remaining  silent.  I 
could  not  help  thinking  even  in  that  interval,  I  remember, 
what  a  noble  fellow  he  was  in  appearance,  and  how  homely 
and  plain  Mr.  Mell  looked  opposed  to  him. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  talking  about  favorites,  then?  "  said 
Steerforth,  at  length. 

"  Favorites ! "  repeated  Mr.  Creakle,  with  the  veins  in  his 
forehead  swelling  quickly.  "  Who  talked  about  favorites  ?  " 

"  He  did,"  said  Steerforth. 

"  And  pray  what  did  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  "  demanded  Mr. 
Creakle,  turning  angrily  on  his  assistant. 

"  I  meant,  Mr.  Creakle,"  he  returned  in  a  low  voice,  "  as  I 
said ;  that  no  pupil  had  a  right  to  avail  himself  of  his  position 
of  favoritism  to  degrade  me." 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  419 

"  To  degrade  you  f  "  said  Mr.  Creakle.  "  My  stars.  But  give 
me  leave  to  ask  you,  Mr.  What's-your-name ; "  and  here  Mr. 
Creakle  folded  his  arms,  cane  and  all,  upon  his  chest,  and  made 
such  a  knot  of  his  brows  that  his  little  eyes  were  hardly  visible 
below  them ;  "  whether,  when  you  talked  about  favorites,  you 
showed  proper  respect  to  me  ?  To  me,  sir."  said  Mr.  Creakle, 
darting  his  head  at  him  suddenly,  and  drawing  it  back  again, 
"  the  principal  of  this  establishment,  and  your  employer. " 

"  It  was  not  judicious,  sir,  I  am  willing  to  admit,"  said  Mr. 
Mell.  "  I  should  not  have  done  so,  if  I  had  been  cool." 

Here  Steerforth  struck  in. 

"  Then  he  said  I  was  mean,  and  then  he  said  I  was  base,  and 
then  I  called  him  a  beggar.  If  I  had  been  cool,  perhaps  I 
shouldn't  have  called  him  a  beggar.  But  I  did,  and  I  am  ready 
to  take  the  consequences  of  it." 

Without  considering,  perhaps,  whether  there  were  any  conse- 
quences to  be  taken,  I  felt  quite  in  a  glow  at  this  gallant  speech. 
It  made  an  impression  on  the  boys,  too,  for  there  was  a  low  stir 
among  them,  though  no  one  spoke  a  word. 

"  I  am  surprised,  Steerforth — although  your  candor  does  you 
honor,  certainly — I  am  surprised,  Steerforth,  I  must  say,  that 
you  should  attach  such  an  epithet  to  any  person  employed  and 
paid  in  Salem  House,  sir." 

Steerforth  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  That's  not  an  answer,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Creakle,  "  to  my  remark. 
I  expect  more  than  that  from  you,  Steerforth." 

If  Mr.  Mell  looked  homely,  in  my  eyes,  before  the  handsome 
boy,  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  say  how  homely  Mr. 
Creakle  looked. 

11  Let  him  deny  it,"  said  Steerforth. 

"  Deny  that  he  is  a  beggar,  Steerforth  ! "  cried  Mr.  Creakle. 
"  Why,  where  does  he  go  a-begging?  " 

"  If  he  is  not  a  beggar  himself,  his  near  relation's  one,"  said 
Steerforth.  "  It's  all  the  same." 

He  glanced  at  me,  and  Mr.  Mell's  hand  gently  patted  me 
upon  the  shoulder.  I  looked  up  with  a  flush  upon  my  face 


420  CHARLES  DICKENS 

and  remorse  in  my  heart,  but  Mr.  Mell's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Steerforth.  He  continued  to  pat  me  kindly  on  the  shoulder, 
but  he  looked  at  him. 

"  Since  you  expect  me,  Mr.  Creakle,  to  justify  myself,"  said 
Steerforth,  "  and  to  say  what  I  mean — what  I  have  to  say  is, 
that  his  mother  lives  on  charity  in  an  almshouse." 

Mr.  Mell  still  looked  at  him,  and  still  patted  me  kindly  on 
the  shoulder  and  said  to  himself  in  a  whisper,  if  I  heard  right, 
"Yes,  I  thought  so." 

Mr.  Creakle  turned  to  his  assistant,  with  a  severe  frown  and 
labored  politeness : 

"  Now  you  hear  what  this  gentleman  says,  Mr.  Mell.  Have 
the  goodness,  if  you  please,  to  set  him  right  before  the  assembled 
school." 

"  He  is  right,  sir,  without  correction,"  returned  Mr.  Mell,  in 
the  midst  of  a  dead  silence ;  "  what  he  has  said  is  true." 

"  Be  so  good,  then,  as  to  declare  publicly,  will  you,"  said  Mr. 
Creakle,  putting  his  head  on  one  side,  and  rolling  his  eyes 
round  the  school,  "  whether  it  ever  came  to  my  knowledge  until 
this  moment  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not  directly,"  he  returned. 

"  Why,  you  know  not,"  said  Mr.  Creakle.  "  Don't  you, 
man?" 

"  I  apprehend  you  never  supposed  my  worldly  circumstances 
to  be  very  good,"  replied  the  assistant.  "  You  know  what  my 
position  is,  and  always  has  been  here." 

"  I  apprehend,  if  you  come  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Creakle,  with 
his  veins  swelling  again  bigger  than  ever,  "  that  you've  been 
in  a  wrong  position  altogether,  and  mistook  this  for  a  charity 
school.  Mr.  Mell,  we'll  part,  if  you  please.  The  sooner  the 
better." 

"There  is  no  time,"  answered  Mr.  Mell,  rising,  "like  the 
present." 

"  Sir,  to  you  ! "  said  Mr.  Creakle. 

"  I  take  my  leave  of  you,  Mr.  Creakle,  and  all  of  you,"  said 
Mr.  Mell,  glancing  round  the  room,  and  again  patting  me 


THE  SCHOOL  AT  SALEM  HOUSE  421 

gently  on  the  shoulder.  "  James  Steerforth,  the  best  wish  I 
can  leave  you  is  that  you  may  come  to  be  ashamed  of  what 
you  have  done  to-day.  At  present  I  would  prefer  to  see  you 
anything  rather  than  a  friend,  to  me,  or  to  any  one  in  whom  I 
feel  an  interest." 

Once  more  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder;  and,  then 
taking  his  flute  and  a  few  books  from  his  desk,  and  leaving 
the  key  in  it  for  his  successor,  he  went  out  of  the  school,  with 
his  property  under  his  arm.  Mr.  Creakle  then  made  a  speech, 
through  Tungay,  in  which  he  thanked  Steerforth  for  asserting 
(though  perhaps  too  warmly)  the  independence  and  respectabil- 
ity of  Salem  House ;  and  which  he  wound  up  by  shaking  hands 
with  Steerforth,  while  we  gave  three  cheers — I  did  not  quite 
know  what  for,  but  I  supposed  for  Steerforth,  and  so  joined  in 
them  ardently,  though  I  felt  miserable.  Mr.  Creakle  then  caned 
Tommy  Traddles  for  being  discovered  in  tears,  instead  of  cheers, 
on  account  of  Mr.  Mell's  departure  ;  and  went  back  to  his  sofa, 
or  his  bed,  or  wherever  he  had  come  from. 

We  were  all  left  to  ourselves  now,  and  looked  very  blank,  I 
recollect,  on  one  another.  For  myself,  I  felt  so  much  self-re- 
proach and  contrition  for  my  part  in  what  had  happened,  that 
nothing  would  have  enabled  me  to  keep  back  my  tears  but  the 
fear  that  Steerforth,  who  often  looked  at  me,  I  saw,  might  think 
it  unfriendly — or,  I  should  rather  say,  considering  our  relative 
ages,  and  the  feeling  with  which  I  regarded  him,  undutiful— 
if  I  showed  the  emotion  which  distressed  me.  He  was  very 
angry  with  Traddles,  and  said  he  was  glad  he  had  caught  it. 

Poor  Traddles,  who  had  passed  the  stage  of  lying  with  his 
head  upon  the  desk,  and  was  relieving  himself  as  usual  with 
a  burst  of  skeletons,  said  he  didn't  care.  Mr.  Mell  was  ill-used. 

"  Who  has  ill-used  him,  you  girl  ?  "  said  Steerforth. 

"  Why,  you  have,"  returned  Traddles. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  said  Steerforth. 

"  What  have  you  done?  "  retorted  Traddles.  "  Hurt  his  feel- 
ings and  lost  him  his  situation." 

"  His  feelings ! "  repeated  Steerforth  disdainfully.     "  His  feel- 


422  CHARLES  DICKENS 

ings  will  soon  get  the  better  of  it,  I'll  be  bound.  His  feelings 
are  not  like  yours,  Miss  Traddles.  As  to  his  situation — which 
was  a  precious  one,  wasn't  it  ? — do  you  suppose  I  am  not  going 
to  write  home,  and  take  care  that  he  gets  some  money, 
Polly?" 

We  thought  this  intention  very  noble  in  Steerforth,  whose 
mother  was  a  widow,  and  rich,  and  would  do  almost  anything, 
it  was  said,  that  he  asked  her.  We  were  all  extremely  glad 
to  see  Traddles  so  put  down,  and  exalted  Steerforth  to  the 
skies ;  especially  when  he  told  us,  as  he  condescended  to  do, 
that  what  he  had  done  had  been  done  expressly  for  us,  and  for 
our  cause,  and  that  he  had  conferred  a  great  boon  upon  us  by 
unselfishly  doing  it. 

But  I  must  say  that  when  I  was  going  on  with  a  story  in  the 
dark  that  night,  Mr.  Mell's  old  flute  seemed  more  than  once  to 
sound  mournfully  in  my  ears  ;  and  that  when  at  last  Steerforth 
was  tired,  and  I  lay  down  in  my  bed,  I  fancied  it  playing  so 
sorrowfully  somewhere  that  I  was  quite  wretched. 

I  soon  forgot  him  in  the  contemplation  of  Steerforth,  who,  in 
an  easy  amateur  way,  and  without  any  book  (he  seemed  to  me 
to  know  everything  by  heart),  took  some  of  his  classes  until  a 
new  master  was  found.  The  new  master  came  from  a  grammar 
school,  and  before  he  entered  on  his  duties,  dined  in  the  parlor 
one  day,  to  be  introduced  to  Steerforth.  Steerforth  approved  of 
him  highly,  and  told  us  he  was  a  Brick.  Without  exactly 
understanding  what  learned  distinction  was  meant  by  this,  I 
respected  him  greatly  for  it,  and  had  no  doubt  whatever  of  his 
superior  knowledge ;  though  he  never  took  the  pains  with  me 
— not  that  I  was  anybody — that  Mr.  Mell  had  taken. 

Dr.    Strong's   School 

(From  "  David  Copperfield  ") 

Doctor  Strong's  was  an  excellent  school ;  as  different  from 
Mr.  Creakle's  as  good  is  from  evil.  It  was  very  gravely  and 
decorously  ordered,  and  on  a  sound  system ;  with  an  appeal 


DR.    STRONG'S  SCHOOL  423 

in  everything  to  the  honor  and  good  faith  of  the  boys,  and  an 
avowed  intention  to  rely  on  their  possession  of  those  qualities 
unless  they  proved  themselves  unworthy  of  it,  which  worked 
wonders.  We  all  felt  that  we  had  a  part  in  the  management  of 
the  place,  and  in  sustaining  its  character  and  dignity.  Hence, 
we  soon  became  warmly  attached  to  it — I  am  sure  I  did,  for 
one,  and  I  never  knew,  in  all  my  time,  of  any  other  boy  being 
otherwise — and  learned  with  a  good  will,  desiring  to  do  it 
credit.  We  had  noble  games  out  of  hours,  and  plenty  of 
liberty  ;  but  even  then,  as  I  remember,  we  were  well  spoken  of 
in  the  town,  and  rarely  did  any  disgrace,  by  our  appearance  or 
manner,  to  the  reputation  of  Doctor  Strong  and  Doctor  Strong's 
boys. 

Some  of  the  higher  scholars  boarded  in  the  Doctor's  house, 
and  through  them  I  learned,  at  second  hand,  some  particulars 
of  the  Doctor's  history.  As  how  he  had  not  yet  been  married 
twelve  months  to  the  beautiful  young  lady  I  had  seen  in  the 
study,  whom  he  had  married  for  love ;  for  she  had  not  a  six- 
pence, and  had  a  world  of  poor  relations  (so  our  fellows  said) 
ready  to  swarm  the  Doctor  out  of  house  and  home.  Also,  how 
the  Doctor's  cogitating  manner  was  attributable  to  his  being 
always  engaged  in  looking  out  for  Greek  roots,  which,  in  my 
innocence  and  ignorance,  I  supposed  to  be  a  botanical  furor  on 
the  Doctor's  part,  especially  as  he  always  looked  at  the  ground 
when  he  walked  about  until  I  understood  that  they  were  roots 
of  words,  with  a  view  to  a  new  Dictionary  which  he  had  in 
contemplation.  Adams,  our  head  boy,  who  had  a  turn  for 
mathematics,  had  made  a  calculation,  I  was  informed,  of  the 
time  this  Dictionary  would  take  in  completing,  on  the  Doctor's 
plan,  and  at  the  Doctor's  rate  of  going.  He  considered  that  it 
might  be  done  in  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty-nine 
years,  counting  from  the  Doctor's  last,  or  sixty -second  birthday. 

But  the  Doctor  himself  was  the  idol  of  the  whole  school,  and 
it  must  have  been  a  badly  composed  school  if  he  had  been  any- 
thing else,  for  he  was  the  kindest  of  men,  with  a  simple  faith  in 
him  that  might  have  touched  the  stone  hearts  of  the  very  urns 


424  CHARLES  DICKENS 

upon  the  wall.  As  he  walked  up  and  down  that  part  of  the 
court-yard  which  was  at  the  side  of  the  house,  with  the  stray 
rooks  and  jackdaws  looking  after  him  with  their  heads  cocked 
slyly,  as  if  they  knew  how  much  more  knowing  they  were  in 
worldly  affairs  than  he,  if  any  sort  of  vagabond  could  only  get 
near  enough  to  his  creaking  shoes  to  attract  his  attention  to 
one  sentence  of  a  tale  of  distress,  that  vagabond  was  made  for 
the  next  two  days.  It  was  so  notorious  in  the  house  that  the 
masters  and  head  boys  took  pains  to  cut  these  marauders  off  at 
angles,  and  to  get  out  of  windows  and  turn  them  out  of  the 
court-yard,  before  they  could  make  the  Doctor  aware  of  their 
presence,  which  was  sometimes  happily  effected  within  a  few 
yards  of  him,  without  his  knowing  anything  of  the  matter,  as 
he  jogged  to  and  fro.  Outside  of  his  own  domain,  and  unpro- 
tected, he  was  a  very  sheep  for  the  shearers.  He  would  have 
taken  his  gaiters  off  his  legs  to  give  away. 

In  fact,  there  was  a  story  current  among  us  (I  have  no  idea,  and 
never  had,  on  what  authority,  but  I  have  believed  it  for  so  many 
years  that  I  feel  quite  certain  it  is  true),  that  on  a  frosty  day,  one 
winter-time,  he  actually  did  bestow  his  gaiters  on  a  beggar-wo- 
man, who  occasioned  some  scandal  in  the  neighborhood  by  ex- 
hibiting a  fine  infant  from  door  to  door,  wrapped  in  those  gar- 
ments, which  were  universally  recognized,  being  as  well  known 
in  the  vicinity  as  the  Cathedral.  The  legend  added  that  the  only 
person  who  did  not  identify  them  was  the  Doctor  himself,  who, 
when  they  were  shortly  afterward  displayed  at  the  door  of  a 
little  second-hand  shop  of  no  very  good  repute,  where  such 
things  were  taken  in  exchange  for  gin,  was  more  than  once 
observed  to  handle  them  approvingly,  as  if  admiring  some 
curious  novelty  in  the  pattern,  and  considering  them  an  im- 
provement on  his  own. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  see  the  Doctor  with  his  pretty  young 
wife.  He  had  a  fatherly,  benignant  way  of  showing  his  fond- 
ness for  her,  which  seemed  in  itself  to  express  a  good  man.  I 
often  saw  them  walking  in  the  garden  where  the  peaches  were, 
and  I  sometimes  had  a  nearer  observation  of  them  in  the  study 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  425 

or  the  parlor.  She  appeared  to  me  to  take  great  care  of  the 
Doctor,  and  to  like  him  very  much,  though  I  never  thought 
her  vitally  interested  in  the  Dictionary ;  some  cumbrous  frag- 
ments of  which  work  the  Doctor  always  carried  in  his  pockets, 
and  in  the  lining  of  his  hat,  and  generally  seemed  to  be 
expounding  to  her  as  they  walked  about. 

Dotheboys  Hall 

(From  ' '  Nicholas  Nickleby  ") 

"  Are  you  cold,  Nickleby  ?  "  inquired  Squeers,  after  they  had 
traveled  some  distance  in  silence. 

"  Rather,  sir,  I  must  say." 

"Well,  I  don't  find  fault  with  that,"  said  Squeers;  "it's  a 
long  journey  this  weather." 

"  Is  it  much  further  to  Dotheboys  Hall,  sir  ?  "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  About  three  mile  from  here,"  replied  Squeers.  "  But  you 
needn't  call  it  a  Hall  down  here." 

Nicholas  coughed,  as  if  he  would  like  to  know  why. 

"  The  fact  is,  it  ain't  a  Hall,"  observed  Squeers,  dryly. 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  said  Nicholas,  whom  this  piece  of  intelligence 
much  astonished. 

"  No,"  replied  Squeers.  "  We  call  it  a  Hall  up  in  London, 
because  it  sounds  better,  but  they  don't  know  it  by  that  name 
in  these  parts.  A  man  may  call  his  house  an  island,  if  he 
likes ;  there's  no  act  of  Parliament  against  that,  I  believe." 

"  I  believe  not,  sir,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

Squeers  eyed  his  companion  slyly,  at  the  conclusion  of  this 
little  dialogue,  and  finding  that  he  had  grown  thoughtful  and 
appeared  in  nowise  disposed  to  volunteer  any  observations,  con- 
tented himself  with  lashing  the  pony  until  they  reached  their 
journey's  end. 

"  Jump  out,"  said  Squeers.  "  Hallo  there !  come  and  put 
this  horse  up.  Be  quick,  will  you  ?  " 

While  the  schoolmaster  was  uttering  these  and  other  impa- 
tient cries,  Nicholas  had  time  to  observe  that  the  school  was  a 


426  CHARLES  DICKERS 

long,  cold-looking  house,  one  story  high,  with  a  few  straggling 
out-buildings  behind,  and  a  barn  and  stable  adjoining.  After 
the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  two,  the  noise  of  somebody  unlocking 
the  yard-gate  was  heard,  and  presently  a  tall  lean  boy,  with  a 
lantern  in  his  hand,  issued  forth. 

"  Is  that  you,  Smike  ?  "  cried  Squeers. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Then  why  the  devil  didn't  you  come  before  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  I  fell  asleep  over  the  fire,"  answered  Smike,  with 
humility. 

"  Fire !  what  fire  ?  Where's  there  a  fire  ? "  demanded  the 
schoolmaster,  sharply. 

"  Only  in  the  kitchen,  sir,"  replied  the  boy.  "  Missus  said  as 
I  was  sitting  up,  I  might  go  in  there  for  a  warm." 

"  Your  Missus  is  a  fool,"  retorted  Squeers.  "  You'd  have 
been  a  deuced  deal  more  wakeful  in  the  cold,  I'll  engage." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Squeers"  had  dismounted  ;  and  after  order- 
ing the  boy  to  see  to  the  pony,  and  to  take  care  that  he  hadn't 
any  more  corn  that  night,  he  told  Nicholas  to  wait  at  the  front 
door  a  minute  while  he  went  round  and  let  him  in. 

A  host  of  unpleasant  misgivings,  which  had  been  crowding 
upon  Nicholas  during  the  whole  journey,  thronged  upon  his 
mind  with  redoubled  force  when  he  was  left  alone.  His  great 
distance  from  home  and  the  impossibility  of  reaching  it,  except 
on  foot,  should  he  feel  ever  so  anxious  to  return,  presented 
itself  to  him  in  the  most  alarming  colors ;  and  as  he  looked  up 
at  the  dreary  house  and  dark  windows,  and  upon  the  wild 
country  round,  covered  with  snow,  he  felt  a  depression  of  heart 
and  spirit  which  he  had  never  experienced  before. 

A  ride  of  two  hundred  and  odd  miles  in  severe  weather  is 
one  of  the  best  softeners  of  a  hard  bed  that  ingenuity  can 
devise.  Perhaps  it  is  even  a  sweetener  of  dreams,  for  those 
which  hovered  over  the  rough  couch  of  Nicholas,  and  whispered 
their  airy  nothings  in  his  ear,  were  of  an  agreeable  and  happy 
kind.  He  was  making  his  fortune  very  fast  indeed,  when  the 


DOTHEBOTS  HALL  427 

faint  glimmer  of  an  expiring  candle  shone  before  his  eyes,  and 
a  voice  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  as  part  and  parcel 
of  Mr.  Squeers,  admonished  him  that  it  was  time  to  rise. 

"  Past  seven,  Nickleby,"  said  Mr.  Squeers. 

"  Has  morning  come  already  ?  "  asked  Nicholas, sitting  up  in  bed. 

"  Ah !  that  has  it,"  replied  Squeers,  "  and  ready  iced  too. 
Now,  Nickleby,  come !  tumble  up,  will  you  ?  " 

Nicholas  needed  no  further  admonition,  but  "  tumbled  up  "  at 
once,  and  proceeded  to  dress  himself  by  the  light  of  the  taper 
which  Mr.  Squeers  carried  in  his  hand. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  go,"  said  that  gentleman ;  "  the  pump's  froze." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Nicholas,  not  much  interested  in  the  intelli- 
gence. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Squeers.  "  You  can't  wash  yourself  this 
morning." 

"  Not  wash  myself !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas. 

"  No,  not  a  bit  of  it, "  rejoined  Squeers,  tartly.  "  So  you  must 
be  content  with  giving  yourself  a  dry  polish  till  we  break  the 
ice  in  the  well,  and  can  get  a  bucketful  out  for  the  boys.  Don't 
stand  staring  at  me,  but  do  look  sharp,  will  you  ?  " 

Offering  no  further  observation,  Nicholas  huddled  on  his 
clothes.  Squeers,  meanwhile,  opened  the  shutters  and  blew  the 
candle  out ;  when  the  voice  of  his  amiable  consort  was  heard  in 
the  passage,  demanding  admittance. 

"  Come  in,  my  love,"  said  Squeers. 

Mrs.  Squeers  came  in,  still  habited  in  the  primitive  night- 
jacket  which  had  displayed  the  symmetry  of  her  figure  on  the 
previous  night,  and  further  ornamented  with  a  beaver  bonnet 
of  some  antiquity,  which  she  wore,  with  much  ease  and  light- 
ness, on  the  top  of  the  nightcap  before  mentioned. 

"  Drat  the  things,"  said  the  lady,  opening  the  cupboard :  "  I 
can't  find  the  school-spoon  anywhere." 

"  Never  mind  it,  my  dear,"  observed  Squeers,  in  a  soothing 
manner ;  "  it's  of  no  consequence." 

"  No  consequence,  why,  how  you  talk ! "  retorted  Mrs. 
Squeers,  sharply  ;  "isn't  it  brimstone  morning?" 


428  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  I  forgot,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Squeers ;  "  yes,  it  certainly  is. 
We  purify  the  boys'  blood  now  and  then,  Nickleby." 

"  Purify  fiddlesticks'  ends,"  said  his  lady.  "  Don't  think, 
young  man,  that  we  go  to  the  expense  of  flower  of  brimstone 
and  molasses,  just  to  purify  them ;  because  if  you  think  we 
carry  on  the  business  in  that  way,  you'll  find  yourself  mistaken, 
and  so  I  tell  you  plainly." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Squeers,  frowning.     "  Hem  !  " 

"  Oh  !  nonsense,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers.  "  If  the  young  man 
comes  to  be  a  teacher  here,  let  him  understand  at  once  that  we 
don't  want  any  foolery  about  the  boys.  They  have  the  brim- 
stone and  treacle,  partly  because  if  they  hadn't  something  or 
other  in  the  way  of  medicine  they'd  be  always  ailing  and  giving 
a  world  of  trouble,  and  partly  because  it  spoils  their  appetites 
and  comes  cheaper  than  breakfast  and  dinner.  So  it  does  them 
good  and  us  good  at  the  same  time,  and  that's  fair  enough,  I'm 
sure." 

Having  given  this  explanation,  Mrs.  Squeers  put  her  hand 
into  the  closet  and  instituted  a  stricter  search  after  the  spoon  in 
which  Mr.  Squeers  assisted.  A  few  words  passed  between  them 
while  they  were  thus  engaged,  but  as  their  voices  were  partially 
stifled  by  the  cupboard,  all  that  Nicholas  could  distinguish  was 
that  Mr.  Squeers  said  what  Mrs.  Squeers  had  said  was  inju- 
dicious, and  that  Mrs.  Squeers  said  what  Mr.  Squeers  said  was 
"  stuff." 

A  vast  deal  of  searching  and  rummaging  ensued,  and  it 
proving  fruitless,  Smike  was  called  in,  and  pushed  by  Mrs. 
Squeers,  and  boxed  by  Mr.  Squeers ;  which  course  of  treatment 
brightening  his  intellects,  enabled  him  to  suggest  that  possibly 
Mrs.  Squeers  might  have  the  spoon  in  her  pocket,  as  indeed 
turned  out  to  be  the  case.  As  Mrs.  Squeers  had  previously 
protested,  however,  that  she  was  quite  certain  she  had  not  got 
it,  Smike  received  another  box  on  the  ear  for  presuming  to  con- 
tradict his  mistress,  together  with  a  promise  of  a  sound  thrash- 
ing if  he  were  not  more  respectful  in  future ;  so  that  he  took 
nothing  very  advantageous  by  his  motion. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  429 

"  A  most  invaluable  woman,  that,  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers, 
when  his  consort  had  hurried  away,  pushing  the  drudge  before 
her. 

"  Indeed,  sir !  "  observed  Nicholas. 

"  I  don't  know  her  equal,"  said  Squeers ;  "  I  do  not  know  her 
equal.  That  woman,  Nickleby,  is  always  the  same — always 
the  same  bustling,  lively,  active,  saving  creetur  that  you  see 
her  now." 

Nicholas  sighed  involuntarily  at  the  thought  of  the  agree- 
able domestic  prospect  thus  opened  to  him ;  but  Squeers  was, 
fortunately,  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  reflections  to  per- 
ceive it. 

"  It's  my  way  to  say,  when  I  am  up  in  London,"  continued 
Squeers,  "  that  to  them  boys  she  is  a  mother.  But  she  is  more 
than  a  mother  to  them :  ten  times  more.  She  does  things  for 
them  boys,  Nickleby,  that  I  don't  believe  half  the  mothers 
going  would  do  for  their  own  sons." 

"  I  should  think  they  would  not,  sir,"  answered  Nicholas. 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  ^viewed 
the  boys  in  the  light  of  their  proper  and  natural  enemies ;  or, 
in  other  words,  they  held  and  considered  that  their  business 
and  profession  was  to  get  as  much  from  every  boy  as  could  by 
possibility  be  screwed  out  of  him.  On  this  point  they  were 
both  agreed,  and  behaved  in  unison  accordingly.  The  only 
difference  between  them  was,  that  Mrs.  Squeers  waged  war 
against  the  enemy  openly  and  fearlessly,  and  that  Squeers  cov- 
ered his  rascality,  even  at  home,  with  a  spice  of  his  habitual 
deceit ;  as  if  he  really  had  a  notion  of  some  day  or  other  being 
able  to  take  himself  in,  and  persuade  his  own  mind  that  he 
was  a  very  good  fellow. 

"  But  come,"  said  Squeers,  interrupting  the  progress  of  some 
thoughts  to  this  effect  in  the  mind  of  his  usher,  "  let's  go  into 
the  schoolroom  ;  and  lend  me  a  hand  with  my  school-coat, 
will  you  ?  " 

Nicholas  assisted  his  master  to  put  on  an  old  fustian  shoot- 
ing-jacket, which  he  took  down  from  a  peg  in  the  passage ;  and 


430  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Squeers,  arming  himself  with  his  cane,  led  the  way  across  a 
yard,  to  a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

"  There,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  they  stepped  in  together, 
"  this  is  our  shop,  Nickleby !  " 

It  was  such  a  crowded  scene,  and  there  were  so  many  objects 
to  attract  attention,  that  at  first  Nicholas  stared  about  him, 
really  without  seeing  anything  at  all.  By  degrees,  however, 
the  place  resolved  itself  into  a  bare  and  dirty  room,  with  a 
couple  of  windows,  whereof  a  tenth  part  might  be  of  glass,  the 
remainder  being  stopped  up  with  old  copybooks  and  paper. 
There  were  a  couple  of  long  old  rickety  desks,  cut  and  notched, 
and  inked,  and  damaged  in  every  possible  way ;  two  or  three 
forms;  a  detached  desk  for  Squeers,  and  another  for  his 
assistant.  The  ceiling  was  supported,  like  that  of  a  barn,  by 
cross-beams  and  rafters ;  and  the  walls  were  so  stained  and  dis- 
colored, that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  they  had  ever 
been  touched  with  paint  or  whitewash. 

But  the  pupils — the  young  noblemen !  How  the  last  faint 
traces  of  hope,  the  remotest  glimmering  of  any  good  to  be  de- 
rived from  his  efforts  in  this  den,  faded  from  the  mind  of  Nicho- 
las as  he  looked  in  dismay  around  !  Pale  and  haggard  faces, 
lank  and  bony  figures,  children  with  the  countenances  of  old 
men,  deformities  with  irons  upon  their  limbs,  boys  of  stunted 
growth,  and  others  whose  long  meager  legs  would  hardly  bear 
their  stooping  bodies,  all  crowded  on  the  view  together ;  there 
were  the  bleared  eye,  the  hare  lip,  the  crooked  foot,  and  every 
ugliness  or  distortion  that  told  of  unnatural  aversion  conceived 
by  parents  for  their  offspring,  or  of  young  lives  which,  from 
the  earliest  dawn  of  infancy,  had  been  one  horrible  endurance 
of  cruelty  and  neglect.  There  were  little  faces  which  should 
have  been  handsome,  darkened  with  the  scowl  of  sullen,  dogged 
suffering ;  there  was  childhood  with  the  light  of  its  eye  quenched, 
its  beauty  gone,  and  its  helplessness  alone  remaining ;  there  were 
vicious-faced  boys,  brooding,  with  leaden  eyes,  like  malefactors 
in  a  jail ;  and  there  were  young  creatures  on  whom  the  sins  of 
their  frail  parents  had  descended,  weeping  even  for  the  merce- 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  431 

nary  nurses  they  had  known,  and  lonesome  even  in  their  loneli- 
ness. With  every  kindly  sympathy  and  affection  blasted  in  its 
birth,  with  every  young  and  healthy  feeling  flogged  and  starved 
down,  with  every  revengeful  passion  that  can  fester  in  swollen 
hearts,  eating  its  evil  way  to  their  core  in  silence,  what  an  inci- 
pient Hell  was  breeding  here ! 

And  yet  this  scene,  painful  as  it  was,  had  its  grotesque 
features,  which,  in  a  less  interested  observer  than  Nicholas, 
might  have  provoked  a  smile.  Mrs.  Squeers  stood  at  one  of 
the  desks,  presiding  over  an  immense  basin  of  brimstone  and 
treacle,  of  which  delicious  compound  she  administered  a  large 
installment  to  each  boy  in  succession,  using  for  the  purpose 
a  common  wooden  spoon,  which  might  have  been  originally 
manufactured  for  some  gigantic  top,  and  which  widened  every 
young  gentleman's  mouth  considerably ;  they  being  all  obliged, 
under  heavy  corporal  penalties,  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  bowl 
at  a  gasp.  In  another  corner,  huddled  together  for  companion- 
ship, were  the  little  boys  who  had  arrived  on  the  preceding 
night,  three  of  them  in  very  large  leather  breeches,  and  two  in 
old  trousers,  a  somewhat  tighter  fit  than  drawers  are  usually 
worn;  at  no  great  distance  from  these  was  seated  a  juvenile 
son  and  heir  of  Mr.  Squeers — a  striking  likeness  of  his  father — 
kicking  with  great  vigor  under  the  hands  of  Smike,  who  was 
fitting  upon  him  a  pair  of  new  boots  that  bore  almost  suspicious 
resemblance  to  those  which  the  least  of  ftie  little  boys  had  worn 
on  the  journey  down — as  the  little  boy  himself  seemed  to  think, 
for  he  was  regarding  the  appropriation  with  a  look  of  most  rue- 
ful amazement.  Besides  these,  there  was  a  long  row  of  boys 
waiting,  with  countenances  of  no  pleasant  anticipation,  to  be 
treacled;  and  another  file,  who  had  just  escaped  from  the  inflic- 
tion, making  a  variety  of  wry  mouths,  indicative  of  anything 
but  satisfaction.  The  whole  were  attired  in  such  motley,  ill- 
sorted,  extraordinary  garments,  as  would  have  been  irresistibly 
ridiculous,  but  for  the  foul  appearance  of  dirt,  disorder,  and  dis- 
ease, with  which  they  were  associated. 

"  Now,"  said  Squeers,  giving  the  desk  a  great  rap  with  his 


432  CHARLES   DICKENS 

cane,  which  made  half  the  little  boys  nearly  jump  out  of  their 
boots,  "  is  that  physicking  over  ?  " 

"  Just  over,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  choking  the  last  boy  in  her 
hurry,  and  tapping  the  crown  of  his  head  with  the  wooden 
spoon  to  restore  him.  "  Here,  you  Smike ;  take  this  away  now. 
Look  sharp !  " 

Smike  shuffled  out  with  the  basin,  and  Mrs.  Squeers,  having 
called  up  a  little  boy  with  a  curly  head  and  wiped  her  hands 
upon  it,  hurried  out  after  him  into  a  species  of  wash-house, 
where  there  was  a  small  fire  and  a  large  kettle,  together  with 
a  number  of  little  wooden  bowls  which  were  arranged  upon  a 
board. 

Into  these  bowls,  Mrs.  Squeers,  assisted  by  the  hungry  ser- 
vant, poured  a  brown  composition,  which  looked  like  diluted 
pincushions  without  the  covers,  and  was  called  porridge.  A 
minute  wedge  of  brown  bread  was  inserted  in  each  bowl,  and 
when  they  had  eaten  the  porridge  by  means  of  the  bread,  the 
boys  ate  the  bread  itself,  and  had  finished  their  breakfast; 
whereupon  Mr.  Squeers  said,  in  a  solemn  voice :  "  For  what  we 
have  received,  may  the  Lord  make  us  truly  thankful !  " — and 
went  away  to  his  own. 

Nicholas  distended  his  stomach  with  a  bowl  of  porridge,  for 
much  the  same  reason  which  induces  some  savages  to  swallow 
earth — lest  they  should  be  inconveniently  hungry  when  there 
is  nothing  to  eat.  Having  further  disposed  of  a  slice  of  bread 
and  butter,  allotted  to  him  in  virtue  of  his  office,  he  sat  himself 
down  to  wait  for  school  time. 

He  could  not  but  observe  how  silent  and  sad  the  boys  all 
seemed  to  be.  There  was  none  of  the  noise  and  clamor  of  a 
schoolroom ;  none  of  its  boisterous  play  or  hearty  mirth.  The 
children  sat  crouching  and  shivering  together,  and  seemed  to 
lack  the  spirit  to  move  about.  The  only  pupil  who  evinced 
the  slightest  tendency  toward  locomotion  or  playfulness  was 
Master  Squeers,  and  as  his  chief  amusement  was  to  tread  upon 
the  other  boys'  toes,  in  his  new  boots,  his  flow  of  spirits  was 
rather  disagreeable  than  otherwise. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  433 

After  some  half  hour's  delay,  Mr.  Squeers  reappeared,  and 
the  boys  took  their  places  and  their  books,  of  which  latter  com- 
modity the  average  might  be  about  one  to  eight  learners.  A 
few  minutes  having  elapsed,  during  which  Mr.  Squeers  looked 
very  profound,  as  if  he  had  a  perfect  apprehension  of  what  was 
inside  all  the  books,  and  could  say  every  word  of  their  contents 
by  heart  if  he  only  chose  to  take  the  trouble,  that  gentleman 
called  up  the  first  class. 

Obedient  to  this  summons,  there  ranged  themselves  in  front 
of  the  schoolmaster's  desk  half  a  dozen  scarecrows,  out  at  knees 
and  elbows,  one  of  whom  placed  a  torn  and  filthy  book  beneath 
his  learned  eye. 

"  This  is  the  first  class  in  English  spelling  and  philosophy, 
Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  beckoning  Nicholas  to  stand  beside 
him.  "  We'll  get  up  a  Latin  one,  and  hand  that  over  to  you. 
Now,  then,  where's  the  first  boy  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  he's  cleaning  the  back  parlor  window,"  said  the 
temporary  head  of  the  philosophical  class. 

"  So  he  is,  to  be  sure,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "  We  go  upon  the 
practical  mode  of  teaching,  Nickleby;  the  regular  education 
system.  C-1-e-a-n,  clean,  verb  active,  to  make  bright,  to  scour. 
W-i-n,  win,  d-e-r,  winder,  a  casement.  When  the  boy  knows 
this  out  of  book,  he  goes  and  does  it.  It's  just  the  same  prin- 
ciple as  the  use  of  the  globes.  Where's  the  second  boy  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  he's  weeding  the  garden,"  replied  a  small  voice. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Squeers,  by  no  means  disconcerted.  "  So 
he  is.  B-o-t,  bot,  t-i-n,  bottin,  n-e-y,  ney,  bottinney,  noun  sub- 
stantive, a  knowledge  of  plants.  When  he  has  learned  that 
bottinney  means  a  knowledge  of  plants,  he  goes  and  knows 
'em.  That's  our  system,  Nickleby;  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  It's  a  very  useful  one,  at  any  rate,"  answered  Nicholas. 

"  I  believe  you,"  rejoined  Squeers,  not  remarking  the  empha- 
sis of  his  usher.  "  Third  boy,  what's  a  horse  ?  " 

"  A  beast,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Squeers.     "  Ain't  it,  Nickleby  ?  " 

"  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  sir,"  answered  Nicholas, 
s.  M.— 28 


434  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  Of  course  there  isn't,"  said  Squeers.  "  A  horse  is  a  quad- 
ruped, and  quadruped's  Latin  for  beasts,  as  everybody  that's 
gone  through  the  grammar  knows,  or  else  where's  the  use  of 
having  grammars  at  all  ?  " 

"  Where,  indeed  !  "  said  Nicholas,  abstractedly. 

"  As  you're  perfect  in  that,"  resumed  Squeers,  turning  to  the 
boy,  "  go  and  look  after  my  horse,  and  rub  him  down  well,  or 
I'll  rub  you  down.  The  rest  of  the  class  go  and  draw  water  up, 
till  somebody  tells  you  to  leave  off,  for  it's  washing-day  to-mor- 
row, and  they  want  the  coppers  filled." 

So  saying,  he  dismissed  the  first  class  to  their  experiments  in 
practical  philosophy,  and  eyed  Nicholas  with  a  look,  half  cun- 
ning and  half  doubtful,  as  if  he  were  not  altogether  certain 
what  he  might  think  of  him  by  this  time. 

"  That's  the  way  we  do  it,  Nickleby,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  that  was 
scarcely  perceptible,  and  said  he  saw  it  was. 

"  And  a  very  good  way  it  is,  too,"  said  Squeers.  "  Now,  just 
take  them  fourteen  little  boys  and  hear  them  some  reading, 
because,  you  know,  you  must  begin  to  be  useful.  Idling  .about 
here  won't  do." 

Mr.  Squeers  said  this,  as  if  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  either 
that  he  must  not  say  too  much  to  his  assistant,  or  that  his  as- 
sistant did  not  say  enough  to  him  in  praise  of  the  establishment. 
The  children  were  arranged  in  a  semicircle  round  their  new 
master,  and  he  was  soon  listening  to  their  dull,  drawling,  hesi- 
tating recital  of  those  stories  of  engrossing  interest  which  are  to 
be  found  in  the  more  antiquated  spelling-books. 

In  this  exciting  occupation,  the  morning  lagged  heavily  on. 
At  one  o'clock,  the  boys,  having  previously  had  their  appetites 
thoroughly  taken  away  by  stirabout  and  potatoes,  sat  down 
in  the  kitchen  to  some  hard  salt  beef,  of  which  Nicholas  was 
graciously  permitted  to  take  his  portion  to  his  own  solitary 
desk,  to  eat  it  there  in  peace.  After  this,  there  was  another 
hour  of  crouching  in  the  schoolroom  and  shivering  with  cold, 
and  then  school  began  again. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  435 

It  was  Mr.  Squeers's  custom  to  call  the  boys  together,  and 
make  a  sort  of  report,  after  every  half  yearly  visit  to  the  me- 
tropolis, regarding  the  relations  and  friends  he  had  seen,  the 
news  he  had  heard,  the  letters  he  had  brought  down,  the  bills 
which  had  been  paid,  the  accounts  which  had  been  left  unpaid, 
and  so  forth.  This  solemn  proceeding  always  took  place  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  day  succeeding  his  return ;  perhaps,  because 
the  boys  acquired  strength  of  mind  from  the  suspense  of  the 
morning,  or,  possibly,  because  Mr.  Squeers  himself  acquired 
greater  sternness  and  inflexibility  from  certain  warm  potations 
in  which  he  was  wont  to  indulge  after  his  early  dinner.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  the  boys  were  recalled  from  house-window, 
garden,  stable,  and  cow-yard,  and  the  school  were  assembled  in 
full  conclave,  when  Mr.  Squeers,  with  a  small  bundle  of  papers 
in  his  hand,  and  Mrs.  S.  following  with  a  pair  of  canes,  entered 
the  room  and  proclaimed  silence. 

"  Let  any  boy  speak  a  word  without  leave,"  said  Mr.  Squeers, 
mildly,  "  and  I'll  take  the  skin  off  his  back." 

This  special  proclamation  had  the  desired  effect,  and  a  death- 
like silence  immediately  prevailed,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr. 
Squeers  went  on  to  say : 

"  Boys,  I  have  been  to  London,  and  have  returned  to  my 
family  and  you,  as  strong  and  well  as  ever." 

According  to  half-yearly  custom,  the  boys  gave  three  feeble 
cheers  at  this  refreshing  intelligence.  Such  cheers !  Sighs  of 
extra  strength  with  the  chill  on. 

"  I  have  seen  the  parents  of  some  boys,"  continued  Squeers, 
turning  over  his  papers,  "  and  they're  so  glad  to  hear  how 
their  sons  are  getting  on,  that  there's  no  prospect  at  all  of  their 
going  away,  which  of  course  is  a  very  pleasant  thing  to  reflect 
upon,  for  all  parties." 

Two  or  three  hands  went  to  two  or  three  eyes  when  Squeers 
said  this,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  young  gentlemen  having 
no  particular  parents  to  speak  of,  were  wholly  uninterested  in 
the  thing  one  way  or  other. 

"  I   have   had    disappointments    to   contend    against,"   said 


436  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Squeers,  looking  very  grim ;  "  Holder's  father  was  two  pound 
ten  short.  Where  is  Bolder?" 

"Here  he  is,  please  sir,"  rejoined  twenty  officious  voices. 
Boys  are  very  like  men  to  be  sure. 

"  Come  here,  Bolder,"  said  Squeers. 

An  unhealthy-looking  boy,  with  warts  all  over  his  hands, 
stepped  from  his  place  to  the  master's  desk,  and  raised  his  eyes 
imploringly  to  Squeers's  face ;  his  own,  quite  white  from  the 
rapid  beating  of  his  heart. 

"  Bolder,"  said  Squeers,  speaking  very  slowly,  for  he  was  con- 
sidering, as  the  saying  goes,  where  to  have  him.  "  Bolder,  if 
your  father  thinks  that  because — why,  what's  this,  sir  ?  " 

As  Squeers  spoke  he  caught  up  the  boy's  hand  by  the  cuff  of 
his  jacket,  and  surveyed  it  with  an  edifying  aspect  of  horror 
and  disgust. 

"  What  do  you  call  this,  sir  ?  "  demanded  the  schoolmaster, 
administering  a  cut  with  the  cane  to  expedite  the  reply. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  indeed,  sir,"  rejoined  the  boy,  crying. 
"  They  will  come ;  it's  the  dirty  work,  I  think,  sir — at  least  I 
don't  know  what  it  is,  sir,  but  it's  not  my  fault." 

"Bolder,"  said  Squeers,  tucking  up  his  wristbands,  and 
moistening  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  to  get  a  good  grip  of  the 
cane,  "  you  are  an  incorrigible  young  scoundrel,  and  as  the  last 
thrashing  did  you  no  good  we  must  see  what  another  will  do 
toward  beating  it  out  of  you." 

With  this,  and  wholly  disregarding  a  piteous  cry  for  mercy, 
Mr.  Squeers  fell  upon  the  boy  and  caned  him  soundly;  not 
leaving  off,  indeed,  until  his  arm  was  tired  out. 

"  There,"  said  Squeers,  when  he  had  quite  done ;  "  rub  away 
as  hard  as  you  like  you  won't  rub  that  off  in  a  hurry.  Oh ! 
you  won't  hold  that  noise,  won't  you  ?  Put  him  out,  Smike." 

The  drudge  knew  better,  from  long  experience,  than  to 
hesitate  about  obeying,  so  he  bundled  the  victim  out  by  a 
side  door,  and  Mr.  Squeers  perched  himself  again  on  his  own 
stool,  supported  by  Mrs.  Squeers,  who  occupied  another  at  his 
side. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  437 

"  Now  let  us  see,"  said  Squeers.  "  A  letter  for  Cobbey.  Stand 
up,  Cobbey." 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  eyed  the  letter  very  «hard  while 
Squeers  made  a  mental  abstract  of  the  same. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Squeers ;  "  Cobbey's  grandmother  is  dead,  and 
his  uncle  John  has  took  to  drinking,  which  is  all  the  news  his 
sister  sends,  except  eighteenpence,  which  will  just  pay  for  that 
broken  square  of  glass.  Mrs.  Squeers,  my  dear,  will  you  take 
the  money  ?  " 

The  worthy  lady  pocketed  the  eighteenpence  with  a  most 
business-like  air,  and  Squeers  passed  on  to  the  next  boy,  as 
coolly  as  possible. 

"  Graymarsh,"  said  Squeers,  "  he's  the  next.  Stand  up,  Gray- 
marsh." 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  the  schoolmaster  looked  over  the 
letter  as  before. 

"  Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt,"  said  Squeers,  when  he  had 
possessed  himself  of  the  contents,  "  is  very  glad  to  hear  he's  so. 
well  and  happy,  and  sends  her  respectful  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Squeers,  and  thinks  she  must  be  an  angel.  She  likewise  thinks 
Mr.  Squeers  is  too  good  for  this  world ;  but  hopes  he  may  long 
be  spared  to  carry  on  the  business.  Would  have  sent  the  two 
pair  of  stockings  as  desired,  but  is  short  of  money,  so  forwards 
a  tract  instead,  and  hopes  Graymarsh  will  put  his  trust  in 
Providence.  Hopes,  above  all,  that  he  will  study  in  everything 
to  please  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  look  upon  them  as  his  only 
friends ;  and  that  he  will  love  Master  Squeers ;  and  not  object  to 
sleeping  five  in  a  bed,  which  no  Christian  should.  Ah  !  "  said 
Squeers,  folding  it  up, "  a  delightful  letter.  Very  affecting  indeed." 

It  was  affecting  in  one  sense,  for  Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt 
was  strongly  supposed,  by  her  more  intimate  friends,  to  be  no 
other  than  his  maternal  parent:  Squeers,  however,  without 
alluding  to  this  part  of  the  story  (which  would  have  sounded 
immoral  before  boys),  proceeded  with  the  business  by  calling 
out  "Mobbs,"  whereupon  another  boy  rose,  and  Graymarsh 
resumed  his  seat. 


438  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"Mobbs's  mother-in-law,"  said  Squeers,  "  took  to  her  bed  on 
hearing  that  he  wouldn't  eat  fat,  and  has  been  very  ill  ever 
since.  She,  wishes  to  know,  by  an  early  post,  where  he  expects 
to  go  to  if  he  quarrels  with  his  vittles ;  and  with  what  feelings  he 
could  turn  up  his  nose  at  the  cow's  liver  broth,  after  his  good 
master  had  asked  a  blessing  on  it.  This  was  told  her  in  the 
London  newspapers — not  by  Mr.  Squeers,  for  he  is  too  kind  and 
too  good  to  set  anybody  against  anybody — and  it  has  vexed 
her  so  much,  Mobbs  can't  think.  She  is  sorry  to  find  he  is  dis- 
contented, which  is  sinful  and  horrid,  and  hopes  Mr.  Squeers 
will  flog  him  into  a  happier  state  of  mind ;  with  this  view,  she 
has  also  stopped  his  half  penny  a  week  pocket  money,  and 
given  a  double-bladed  knife  with  a  corkscrew  in  it  to  the  Mis- 
sionaries, which  she  had  bought  on  purpose  for  him." 

"  A  sulky  state  of  feeling,"  said  Squeers  after  a  terrible  pause, 
during  which  he  had  moistened  the  palm  of  his  right  hand 
again,  "  won't  do.  Cheerfulness  and  contentment  must  be  kept 
up.  Mobbs,  come  to  me !  " 

Mobbs  moved  slowly  toward  the  desk,  rubbing  his  eyes  in 
anticipation  of  good  cause  for  doing  so;  and  he  soon  afterward 
retired  by  the  side  door,  with  as  good  cause  as  a  boy  need  have. 

Mr.  Squeers  then  proceeded  to  open  a  miscellaneous  collection 
of  letters ;  some  inclosing  money,  which  Mrs.  Squeers  "  took  care 
of;"  and  others  referring  to  small  articles  of  apparel,  as  caps 
and  so  forth,  all  of  which  the  same  lady  stated  to  be  too  large, 
or  too  small,  and  calculated  for  nobody  but  young  Squeers,  who 
would  appear  indeed  to  have  had  most  accommodating  limbs, 
since  everything  that  came  into  the  school  fitted  him  to  a 
nicety.  His  head,  in  particular,  must  have  been  singularly 
elastic,  for  hats  and  caps  of  all  dimensions  were  alike  to  him. 

The  business  dispatched,  a  few  slovenly  lessons  were  per- 
formed, and  Squeers  retired  to  his  fireside,  leaving  Nicholas  to 
take  care  of  the  boys  in  the  schoolroom,  which  was  very  cold, 
and  where  a  meal  of  bread  and  cheese  was  served  out  shortly 
after  dark. 

There  was  a  small  stove  at  that  corner  of  the  room  which 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  439 

was  nearest  to  the  master's  desk,  and  by  it  Nicholas  sat  down, 
so  depressed  and  self-degraded  by  the  consciousness  of  his  posi- 
tion, that  if  death  could  have  come  upon  him  at  that  time,  he 
would  have  been  almost  happy  to  meet  it.  The  cruelty  of 
which  he  had  been  an  unwilling  witness,  the  coarse  and  ruf- 
fianly behavior  of  Squeers,  even  in  his  best  moods,  the  filthy 
place,  the  sights  and  sounds  about  him,  all  contributed  to  this 
state  of  feeling ;  but  when  he  recollected  that,  being  there  as  an 
assistant,  he  actually  seemed — no  matter  what  unhappy  train 
of  circumstances  had  brought  him  to  that  pass — to  be  the  aider 
and  abettor  of  a  system  which  filled  him  with  honest  disgust 
and  indignation,  he  loathed  himself,  and  felt,  for  the  moment, 
as  though  the  mere  consciousness  of  his  present  situation  must, 
through  all  time  to  come,  prevent  his  raising  his  head  again. 

But,  for  the  present,  his  resolve  was  taken,  and  the  resolution 
he  had  formed  on  the  preceding  night  remained  undisturbed. 
He  had  written  to  his  mother  and  sister,  announcing  the  safe 
conclusion  of  his  journey,  and  saying  as  little  about  Dotheboys 
Hall,  and  saying  that  little  as  cheerfully,  as  he  possibly  could. 
He  hoped  that  by  remaining  where  he  was,  he  might  do  some 
good,  even  there ;  at  all  events,  others  depended  too  much  on 
his  uncle's  favor,  to  admit  of  his  awakening  his  wrath  just  then. 

One  reflection  disturbed  him  far  more  than  any  selfish  con- 
sideration arising  out  of  his  own  position.  This  was  the 
probable  destination  of  his  sister  Kate.  His  uncle  had  deceived 
him,  and  might  he  not  consign  her  to  some  miserable  place 
where  her  youth  and  beauty  would  prove  a  far  greater  curse 
than  ugliness  and  decrepitude  ?  To  a  caged  man,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  this  was  a  terrible  idea;  but  no,  he  thought,  his 
mother  was  by;  there  was  the  portrait-painter,  too — simple 
enough,  but  still  living  in  the  world  and  of  it.  He  was  willing 
to  believe  that  Ralph  Nickleby  had  conceived  a  personal  dislike 
to  himself.  Having  pretty  good  reason,  by  this  time,  to  recip- 
rocate it,  he  had  no  great  difficulty  in  arriving  at  this  conclu- 
sion, and  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  feeling  extended 
no  further  than  between  them. 


440  CHARLES  DICKENS 

As  he  was  absorbed  in  these  meditations,  he  all  at  once 
encountered  the  upturned  face  of  Smike,  who  was  on  his  knees 
before  the  stove,  picking  a  few  stray  cinders  from  the  hearth 
and  planting  them  on  the  fire.  He  had  paused  to  steal  a  look 
at  Nicholas,  and  when  he  saw  that  he  was  observed,  shrunk 
back  as  if  expecting  a  blow. 

"  You  need  not  fear  me,"  said  Nicholas,  kindly.  "  Are  you 
cold?" 

"  N-ii-o." 

"You  are  shivering." 

"  I  am  not  cold,"  replied  Smike,  quickly.     "  I  am  used  to  it." 

There  was  such  an  obvious  fear  of  giving  offence  in  his 
manner,  and  he  was  such  a  timid,  broken-spirited  creature,  that 
Nicholas  could  not  help  exclaming,  "  Poor  fellow  ! " 

If  he  had  struck  the  drudge,  he  would  have  slunk  away  with- 
out a  word.  But  now  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear ! "  he  cried,  covering  his  face  with  his 
cracked  and  horny  hands.  "  My  heart  will  break.  It  will,  it 
will!" 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
"  be  a  man ;  you  are  nearly  one  by  years,  God  help  you !  " 

"  By  years !  "  cried  Smike.  "  Oh,  dear,  dear,  how  many  of 
them !  How  many  of  them  since  I  was  a  little  child,  younger 
than  any  that  are  here  now !  Where  are  they  all  ?  " 

"Whom  do  you  speak  of?"  inquired  Nicholas,  wishing  to 
rouse  the  poor  half-witted  creature  to  reason.  "  Tell  me." 

"  My  friends,"  he  replied,  "  myself — my — oh !  what  sufferings 
mine  have  been !  " 

"  There  is  always  hope,"  said  Nicholas ;  he  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  other ;  "  no,  none  for  me.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  boy  that  died  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  here,  you  know,"  said  Nicholas,  gently ;  "  but 
wrhat  of  him?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  youth,  drawing  closer  to  his  questioner's 
side,  "  I  was  with  him  at  night,  and  when  it  was  all  silent  he 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  441 

cried  no  more  for  friends  he  wished  to  come  and  sit  with  him, 
but  began  to  see  faces  round  his  bed  that  came  from  home ; 
he  said  they  smiled  and  talked  to  him ;  and  he  died  at  last  lift- 
ing his  head  to  kiss  them.  Do  you  hear?  " 

"  Yes,  yes/J  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"  What  faces  will  smile  on  me  when  I  die  ?  "  cried  his  com- 
panion, shivering.  "  Who  will  talk  to  me  in  those  long  nights? 
They  cannot  come  from  home;  they  would  frighten  me  if  they 
did,  for  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  and  shouldn't  know  them. 
Pain  and  fear,  pain  and  fear  for  me,  alive  or  dead.  No  hope, 
no  hope ! " 

The  bell  rang  to  bed ;  and  the  boy,  subsiding  at  the  sound 
into  his  usual  listless  state,  crept  away  as  if  anxious  to  avoid 
notice.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  Nicholas  soon  afterward 
— no,  not  retired ;  there  was  no  retirement  there — followed,  to 
his  dirty  and  crowded  dormitory. 

The  wretched  creature,  Smike,  since  the  night  Nicholas  had 
spoken  kindly  to  him  in  the  schoolroom,  had  followed  him  to 
and  fro,  with  an  ever  restless  desire  to  serve  or  help  him ;  an- 
ticipating such  little  wants  as  his  humble  ability  could  supply, 
and  content  only  to  be  near  him.  He  would  sit  beside  him 
for  hours,  looking  patiently  into  his  face ;  and  a  word  would 
brighten  up  his  careworn  visage,  and  call  into  it  a  passing 
gleam,  even  of  happiness.  He  was  an  altered  being ;  he  had 
an  object  now  ;  and  that  object  was,  to  show  his  attachment  to 
the  only  person — that  person  a  stranger— who  had  treated  him, 
not  to  say  with  kindness,  but  like  a  human  creature. 

Upon  this  poor  being,  all  the  spleen  and  ill-humor  that  could 
not  be  vented  on  Nicholas  were  unceasingly  bestowed.  Drudg- 
ery would  have  been  nothing — Smike  was  well  used  to  that. 
Buffetings  inflicted  without  cause,  would  have  been  equally  a 
matter  of  course ;  for  to  them  also  he  had  served  a  long  and 
weary  apprenticeship  ;  but  it  was  no  sooner  observed  that  he 
had  become  attached  to  Nicholas,  than  stripes  and  blows,  stripes 
and  blows,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  were  his  only  portion. 


442  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Squeers  was  jealous  of  the  influence  which  his  man  had  so 
soon  acquired,  and  his  family  hated  him,  and  Smike  paid  for 
both.  Nicholas  saw  it,  and  ground  his  teeth  at  every  repetition 
of  the  savage  and  cowardly  attack. 

He  had  arranged  a  few  regular  lessons  for  the  boys ;  and  one 
night  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  schoolroom,  his  swollen 
heart  almost  bursting  to  think  that  his  protection  and  counte- 
nance should  have  increased  the  misery  of  the  wretched  being 
whose  peculiar  destitution  had  awakened  his  pity,  he  paused 
mechanically  in  a  dark  corner  where  sat  the  object  of  his 
thoughts. 

The  poor  soul  was  poring  hard  over  a  tattered  book,  with  the 
traces  of  recent  tears  still  upon  his  face,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
master  some  task  which  a  child  of  nine  years  old,  possessed  of 
ordinary  powers,  could  have  conquered  with  ease,  but  which, 
to  the  addled  brain  of  the  crushed  boy  of  nineteen,  was  a  sealed 
and  hopeless  mystery.  Yet  there  he  sat,  patiently  conning 
the  page  again  and  again,  stimulated  by  no  boyish  ambition, 
for  he  was  the  common  jest  and  scoff  even  of  the  uncouth 
objects  that  congregated  about  him,  but  inspired  by  the  one 
eager  desire  to  please  his  solitary  friend. 

Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  said  the  dejected  creature,  looking  up  with 
bitter  disappointment  in  every  feature.  "  No,  no." 

"  Do  not  try,"  replied  Nicholas. 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  and,  closing  the  book  with  a  sigh, 
looked  vacantly  round,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  arm.  He 
was  weeping. 

"  Do  not,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Nicholas,  in  an  agitated  voice ; 
''  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you." 

"  They  are  more  hard  with  me  than  ever,"  sobbed  the  boy. 

"  I  know  it,"  rejoined  Nicholas.     "  They  are." 

"  But  for  you,"  said  the  outcast,  "  I  should  die.  They  would 
kill  me;  they  would;  I  know  they  would." 

"  You  will  do  better,  poor  fellow,"  replied  Nicholas,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully,  "  when  I  am  gone." 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  443 

"  Gone !  "  cried  the  other,  looking  intently  in  his  face. 

"  Softly  !  "  rejoined  Nicholas.     "  Yes." 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  demanded  the  boy,  in  an  earnest  whisper. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  I  was  speaking  more  to 
my  own  thoughts  than  to  you." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  boy,  imploringly,  "  oh,  do  tell  me,  will 
you  go — will  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  driven  to  that  at  last ! "  said  Nicholas.  "  The 
world  is  before  me,  after  all." 

"  Tell  me,"  urged  Smike,  "  is  the  world  as  bad  and  dismal  as 
this  place?" 

"  Heaven  forbid ! "  replied  Nicholas,  pursuing  the  train  of 
his  own  thoughts.  "  Its  hardest,  coarsest  toil  were  happiness 
to  this." 

"  Should  I  ever  meet  you  there  ?  "  demanded  the  boy,  speak- 
ing with  unusual  wildness  and  volubility. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  willing  to  soothe  him. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  the  other,  clasping  him  by  the  hand. 
"Should  I — should  I — tell  me  that  again.  Say  I  should  be 
sure  to  find  you." 

"  You  would,"  replied  Nicholas,  with  the  same  humane  in- 
tention, "  and  I  would  help  and  aid  you,  and  not  bring  fresh 
sorrow  on  you,  as  I  have  done  here." 

The  boy  caught  both  the  young  man's  hands  passionately 
in  his,  and,  hugging  them  to  his  breast,  uttered  a  few  broken 
sounds,  which  were  unintelligible.  Squeers  entered,  at  the 
moment,  and  he  shrank  back  into  his  old  corner.  .  .  . 

The  cold,  feeble  dawn  of  a  January  morning  was  stealing  in 
at  the  windows  of  the  common  sleeping-room,  when  Nicholas, 
raising  himself  on  his  arm,  looked  among  the  prostrate  forms 
which  on  every  side  surrounded  him,  as  though  in  search  of 
some  particular  object. 

It  needed  a  quick  eye  to  detect,  from  among  the  huddled 
mass  of  sleepers,  the  form  of  any  given  individual.  As  they 
lay  closely  packed  together,  covered,  for  warmth's  sake,  with 
their  patched  and  ragged  clothes,  little  could  be  distinguished 


444  CHARLES  DICKENS 

but  the  sharp  outlines  of  pale  faces,  over  which  the  somber 
light  shed  the  same  dull  heavy  color ;  with  here  and  there  a 
gaunt  arm  thrust  forth ;  its  thinness  hidden  by  no  covering, 
but  fully  exposed  to  view,  in  all  its  shrunken  ugliness.  There 
were  some  who,  lying  on  their  backs  with  upturned  faces  and 
clinched  hands,  just  visible  in  the  leaden  light,  bore  more  the 
aspect  of  dead  bodies  than  of  living  creatures ;  and  there  were 
others  coiled  up  into  strange  and  fantastic  postures,  such  as 
might  have  been  taken  for  the  uneasy  efforts  of  pain  to  gain 
some  temporary  relief,  rather  than  the  freaks  of  slumber.  A 
few — and  these  were  among  the  youngest  of  the  children — slept 
peacefully  on,  with  smiles  upon  their  faces,  dreaming  perhaps 
of  home ;  but  ever  and  again  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh,  breaking 
the  stillness  of  the  room,  announced  that  some  new  sleeper  had 
awakened  to  the  misery  of  another  day ;  and,  as  morning  took 
the  place  of  night,  the  smiles  gradually  faded  away,  with  the 
friendly  darkness  which  had  given  them  birth. 

Dreams  are  the  bright  creatures  of  poem  and  legend,  who 
sport  on  earth  in  the  night  season,  and  melt  away  in  the  first 
beam  of  the  sun,  which  lights  grim  care  and  stern  reality  on 
their  daily  pilgrimage  through  the  world. 

Nicholas  looked  upon  the  sleepers ;  at  first,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  gazes  upon  a  scene  which,  though  familiar  to  him, 
has  lost  none  of  its  sorrowful  effect  in  consequence ;  and  after- 
ward, with  a  more  intense  and  searching  scrutiny,  as  a  man 
would  who  missed  something  his  eye  was  accustomed  to  meet, 
and  had  expected  to  rest  upon.  He  was  still  occupied  in  this 
search,  and  had  half  risen  from  his  bed  in  the  eagerness  of 
his  quest,  when  the  voice  of  Squeers  was  heard,  calling  from 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

"  Now,  then,"  cried  that  gentleman,  "  are  you  going  to  sleep 
all  day  up  there " 

"  You  lazy  hounds !  "  added  Mrs.  Squeers,  finishing  the  sen- 
tence, and  producing  at  the  same  time  a  sharp  sound,  like  that 
which  is  occasioned  by  the  lacing  of  stays. 

"  We  shall  be  down  directly,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  445 

"  Down  directly ! "  said  Squeers.  "  Ah !  you  had  better  be 
down  directly,  or  I'll  be  down  upon  some  of  you  in  less. 
Where's  that  Smike?" 

Nicholas  looked  hurriedly  round  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  Smike ! "  shouted  Squeers. 

"Do  you  want  your  head  broke  in  a  fresh  place,  Smike?" 
demanded  his  amiable  lady,  in  the  same  key. 

Still  there  was  no  reply,  and  still  Nicholas  stared  about  him, 
as  did  the  greater  part  of  the  boys,  who  were  by  this  time 
roused. 

"  Confound  his  impudence !  "  muttered  Squeers,  rapping  the 
stair-rail  impatiently  with  his  cane.  "  Nickleby !  " 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  Send  that  obstinate  scoundrel  down ;  don't  you  hear  me 
calling?" 

"  He  is  not  here,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  Don't  tell  me  a  lie !  "  retorted  the  schoolmaster.     "  He  is." 

"  He  is  not,"  retorted  Nicholas,  angrily ;  "  don't  tell  me  one." 

"  We  shall  soon  see  that,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  rushing  upstairs. 
"  I'll  find  him,  I  warrant  you." 

With  which  assurance  Mr.  Squeers  bounced  into  the  dormi- 
tory, and,  swinging  his  cane  in  the  air  ready  for  a  blow,  darted 
into  the  corner  where  the  lean  body  of  the  drudge  was  usually 
stretched  at  night.  The  cane  descended  harmlessly  upon  the 
ground.  There  was  nobody  there. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  Squeers,  turning  round,  with 
a  very  queer  face.  "  Where  have  you  hid  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him  since  last  night,"  replied 
Nicholas. 

"  Come,"  said  Squeers,  evidently  frightened,  though  he  en- 
deavored to  look  otherwise,  "  you  won't  save  him  this  way. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  At  the  bottom  of  the  nearest  pond  for  aught  I  know,"  re- 
joined Nicholas  in  a  low  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  on  the 
master's  face. 

"  D — n  you,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  retorted  Squeers 


446  CHARLES  DICKENS 

in  great  perturbation.  Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  inquired 
of  the  boys  whether  any  one  among  them  knew  anything  of 
their  missing  schoolmate. 

There  was  a  general  hum  of  anxious  denial,  in  the  midst  of 
which,  one  shrill  voice  was  heard  to  say  (as  indeed,  everybody 
thought) : 

"  Please,  sir,  I  think  Smike's  run  away,  sir." 

"  Ha ! "  cried  Squeers,  turning  sharp  round.    "  Who  said  that?  " 

"Tomkins,  please,  sir,"  rejoined  a  chorus  of  voices.  Mr. 
Squeers  made  a  plunge  into  the  crowd,  and  at  one  dive,  caught 
a  very  little  boy,  habited  still  in  his  night  gear,  and  the  per- 
plexed expression  of  whose  countenance  as  he  was  brought  for- 
ward, seemed  to  intimate  that  he  was  as  yet  uncertain  whether 
he  was  about  to  be  punished  or  rewarded  for  the  suggestion. 
He  was  not  long  in  doubt. 

"  You  think  he  has  run  away,  do  you,  sir  ? "  demanded 
Squeers. 

"  Yes,  please,  sir,"  replied  the  little  boy. 

"  And  what,  sir,"  said  Squeers,  catching  the  little  boy  sud- 
denly by  the  arms  and  whisking  up  his  drapery  in  a  most  dex- 
terous manner;  "what  reason  have  you  to  suppose  that  any 
boy  would  want  to  run  away  from  this  establishment?  Eh, 
sir?" 

The  child  raised  a  dismal  cry,  by  way  of  answer,  and  Mr. 
Squeers,  throwing  himself  into  the  most  favorable  attitude  for 
exercising  his  strength,  beat  him  until  the  little  urchin  in  his 
writhings  actually  rolled  out  of  his  hands,  when  he  mercifully 
allowed  him  to  roll  away,  as  best  he  could. 

"  There,"  said  Squeers.  "  Now,  if  any  other  boy  thinks  Smike 
has  run  away,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  him." 

There  was,  of  course,  a  profound  silence,  during  which  Nicho- 
las showed  his  disgust  as  plainly  as  looks  could  show  it. 

"  Well,  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  eyeing  him  maliciously. 
"  You  think  he  has  run  away,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  think  it  extremely  likely,"  replied  Nicholas,  in  a  quiet 
manner. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  447 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?  "  sneered  Squeers.  "  Maybe  you  know 
he  has?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  He  didn't  tell  you  he  was  going,  I  suppose,  did  he?"  sneered 
Squeers. 

"  He  did  not,"  replied  Nicholas ;  "  I  am  very  glad  he  did 
not,  for  it  would  then  have  been  my  duty  to  have  warned  you 
in  time." 

"  Which  no  doubt  you  would  have  been  devilish  sorry  to 
do,"  said  Squeers,  in  a  taunting  fashion. 

"  I  should,  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  You  interpret  my 
feelings  with  great  accuracy." 

Mrs.  Squeers  had  listened  to  this  conversation  from  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs,  but,  now  losing  all  patience,  she  hastily  assumed 
her  night-jacket,  and  made  her  way  to  the  scene  of  action. 

"  What's  all  this  here  to  do  ?  "  said  the  lady,  as  the  boys  fell 
off  right  and  left,  to  save  her  the  trouble  of  clearing  a  passage 
with  her  brawny  arms.  "  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  to 
him  for,  Squeery  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  said  Squeers,  "  the  fact  is,  that  Smike  is 
not  to  be  found." 

"  Well  I  know  that,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  where's  the  wonder  ? 
If  you  get  a  parcel  of  proud-stomached  teachers  that  set  the 
young  dogs  a  rebelling,  what  else  can  you  look  for?  Now, 
young  man,  you  just  have  the  kindness  to  take  yourself  off  to 
the  schoolroom,  and  take  the  boys  off  with  you,  and  don't  you 
stir  out  of  there  till  you  have  leave  given  you,  or  you  and  I 
may  fall  out  in  a  way  that'll  spoil  your  beauty,  handsome  as 
you  think  yourself,  and  so  I  tell  you." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Nicholas. 

"  Yes ;  and  indeed  and  indeed  again,  Mister  Jackanapes,"  said 
the  excited  lady ;  "  and  I  wouldn't  keep  such  as  you  in  the 
house  another  hour,  if  I  had  my  way." 

"  Nor  would  you  if  I  had  mine,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  Now, 
boys!" 

"  Ah !     Now,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  mimicking,  as  nearly 


448  CHARLES  DICKENS 

as  she  could,  the  voice  and  manner  of  the  usher.  "  Follow  your 
leader,  boys,  and  take  pattern  by  Smike,  if  you  dare.  See  what 
he'll  get  for  himself,  when  he  is  brought  back ;  and,  mind  !  I 
tell  you  that  you  shall  have  as  bad  and  twice  as  bad,  if  you  so 
much  as  open  your  mouths  about  him." 

"  If  I  catch  him,"  said  Squeers,  "  I'll  only  stop  short  of  flaying 
him  alive.  I  give  you  notice,  boys." 

"  If  you  catch  him,"  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers,  contemptuously, 
"  you  are  sure  to ;  you  can't  help  it,  if  you  go  the  right  way  to 
work !  Come !  Away  with  you  ! " 

With  these  words,  Mrs.  Squeers  dismissed  the  boys,  and  after 
a  little  light  skirmishing  with  those  in  the  rear  who  were  press- 
ing forward  to  get  out  of  the  way,  but  were  detained  for  a  few 
moments  by  the  throng  in  front,  succeeded  in  clearing  the  room, 
when  she  confronted  her  spouse  alone. 

"  He  is  off !  "  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  "  The  cow-house  and  stable 
are  locked  up,  so  he  can't  be  there ;  and  he's  not  down-stairs 
anywhere,  for  the  girl  has  looked.  He  must  have  gone  York 
way,  and  by  a  public  road,  too." 

"  Why  must  he  ?  "  inquired  Squeers. 

"  Stupid ! "  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  angrily.  "  He  hadn't  any 
mone}^  had  he  ?  " 

"  Never  had  a  penny  of  his  own  in  his  whole  life,  that  I  know 
of,"  replied  Squeers. 

"  To  be  sure,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers,  "  and  he  didn't  take  any- 
thing to  eat  with  him  ;  that  I'll  answer  for.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  " 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  Squeers. 

"  Then,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "  he  must  beg  his  way,  and 
he  could  do  that,  nowhere,  but  on  the  public  road." 

"  That's  true,"  exclaimed  Squeers,  clapping  his  hands. 

"  True  !  Yes ;  but  you  would  never  have  thought  of  it,  for 
all  that,  if  I  hadn't  said  so,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Now,  if  you 
take  the  chaise  and  go  one  road,  and  I  borrow  Swallow's  chaise 
and  go  the  other,  what  with  keeping  our  eyes  open,  and  asking 
questions,  one  or  other  of  us  is  pretty  certain  to  lay  hold  of 
him." 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  449 

The  worthy  lady's  plan  was  adopted  and  put  in  execution 
without  a  moment's  delay.  After  a  very  hasty  breakfast,  and 
the  prosecution  of  some  inquiries  in  the  village,  the  result  of 
which  seemed  to  show  that  he  was  on  the  right  track,  Squeers 
started  forth  in  the  pony-chaise,  intent  upon  discovery  and 
vengeance.  Shortly  afterward,  Mrs.  Squeers,  arrayed  in  the 
white  top-coat,  and  tied  up  in  various  shawls  and  handker- 
chiefs, issued  forth  in  another  chaise  and  another  direction,  tak- 
ing with  her  a  good-sized  bludgeon,  several  odd  pieces  of  strong 
cord,  and  a  stout  laboring  man — all  provided  and  carried  upon 
the  expedition,  with  the  sole  object  of  assisting  in  the  capture, 
and  (once  caught)  insuring  the  safe  custody  of  the  unfortunate 
Smike. 

Nicholas  remained  behind,  in  a  tumult  of  feeling,  sensible 
that  whatever  might  be  the  upshot  of  the  boy's  flight,  nothing 
but  painful  and  deplorable  consequences  were  likely  to  ensue 
from  it.  Death,  from  want  and  exposure  to  the  weather,  was 
the  best  that  could  be  expected  from  the  protracted  wandering 
of  so  poor  and  helpless  a  creature,  alone  and  unfriended,  through 
a  country  of  which  he  was  wholly  ignorant.  There  was  little, 
perhaps,  to  choose  between  this  fate  and  a  return  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  Yorkshire  school ;  but  the  unhappy  being  had 
established  a  hold  upon  his  sympathy  and  compassion,  which 
made  his  heart  ache  at  the  prospect  of  the  suffering  he  was 
destined  to  undergo.  He  lingered  on  in  restless  anxiety,  pictur- 
ing a  thousand  possibilities,  until  the  evening  of  the  next  day, 
when  Squeers  returned  alone  and  unsuccessful. 

"  No  news  of  the  scamp ! "  said  the  schoolmaster,  who  had 
evidently  been  stretching  his  legs,  on  the  old  principle,  not  a 
few  times  during  the  journey.  "  I'll  have  consolation  for  this 
out  of  somebody,  Nickleby,  if  Mrs.  Squeers  don't  hunt  him 
down.  So  I  give  you  warning." 

"  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  console  you,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 
"  It  is  nothing  to  me." 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  said  Squeers,  in  a  threatening  manner.  "  We 
shall  see ! " 

s.  M.— 29 


450  CHARLES  DICKENS 

"  We  shall,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"  Here's  the  pony  run  right  off  his  legs,  and  me  obliged  to 
come  home  with  a  hack  cob,  that'll  cost  fifteen  shillings  besides 
other  expenses,"  said  Squeers ;  "  who's  to  pay  for  that,  do  you 
hear?" 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remained  silent. 

"  I'll  have  it  out  of  somebody,  I  tell  you,"  said  Squeers,  his 
usual  harsh,  crafty  manner  changed  to  open  bullying.  "  None 
of  your  whining  vaporings  here,  Mr.  Puppy  ;  but  be  off  to  your 
kennel,  for  it's  past  your  bed-time !  Come,  get  out !  " 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  knit  his  hands  involuntarily,  for 
his  finger-ends  tingled  to  avenge  the  insult;  but  remembering 
that  the  man  was  drunk,  and  that  it  could  come  to  little  but  a 
noisy  brawl,  he  contented  himself  with  darting  a  contemptuous 
look  at  the  tyrant,  and  walked,  as  majestically  as  he  could,  up- 
stairs ;  not  a  little  nettled,  however,  to  observe  that  Miss  Squeers, 
and  Master  Squeers,  and  the  servant  girl,  were  enjoying  the  scene 
from  a  snug  corner;  the  two  former  indulging  in  many  edify- 
ing remarks  about  the  presumption  of  poor  upstarts,  which 
occasioned  a  vast  deal  of  laughter,  in  which  even  the  most 
miserable  of  all  miserable  servant  girls  joined ;  while  Nicholas, 
stung  to  the  quick,  drew  over  his  head  such  bed-clothes  as  he 
had,  and  sternly  resolved  that  the  outstanding  account  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Squeers  should  be  settled  rather  more  speedily 
than  the  latter  anticipated. 

Another  day  came,  and  Nicholas  was  scarcely  awake  when 
he  heard  the  wheels  of  a  chaise  approaching  the  house.  It 
stopped.  The  voice  of  Mrs.  Squeers  was  heard,  and  in  exul- 
tation, ordering  a  glass  of  spirits  for  somebody,  which  was  in 
itself  a  sufficient  sign  that  something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened. Nicholas  hardly  dared  to  look  out  of  the  window ;  but 
he  did  so,  and  the  very  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  the 
wretched  Smike  so  bedabbled  with  mud  and  rain,  so  haggard, 
and  worn,  and  wild,  that,  but  for  his  garments  being  such  as 
no  scarecrow  was  ever  seen  to  wear,  he  might  have  been  doubt- 
ful, even  then,  of  his  identity. 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  451 

"  Lift  him  out,"  said  Squeers,  after  he  had  literally  feasted 
his  eyes  in  silence  upon  the  culprit.  "  Bring  him  in ;  bring 
him  in ! " 

"  Take  care,"  cried  Mrs.  Squeers,  as  her  husband  proffered 
his  assistance.  "  We  tied  his  legs  under  the  apron  and  made 
'em  fast  to  the  chaise,  to  prevent  him  giving  us  the  slip  again." 

With  hands  trembling  with  delight,  Squeers  unloosened  the 
cord ;  and  Smike,  to  all  appearance  more  dead  than  alive,  was 
brought  into  the  house  and  securely  locked  up  in  a  cellar,  until 
such  time  as  Mr.  Squeers  should  deem  it  expedient  to  operate 
upon  him,  in  presence  of  the  assembled  school. 

Upon  a  hasty  consideration  of  the  circumstances  it  may  be 
matter  of  surprise  to  some  persons  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers 
should  have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  repossess  themselves 
of  an  incumbrance  of  which  it  was  their  wont  to  complain  so 
loudly ;  but  their  surprise  will  cease  when  they  are  informed 
that  the  manifold  services  of  the  drudge,  if  performed  by  any- 
body else,  would  have  cost  the  establishment  some  ten  or  twelve 
shillings  per  week  in  the  shape  of  wages ;  and,  furthermore,  that 
all  runaways  were,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  made  severe  examples 
of  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  inasmuch  as,  in  consequence  of  the  limited 
extent  of  its  attractions,  there  was  but  little  inducement  beyond 
the  powerful  impulse  of  fear,  for  any  pupil,  provided  with  the 
usual  number  of  legs,  and  the  power  of  using  them,  to  remain. 

The  news  that  Smike  had  been  caught  and  brought  back 
in  triumph  ran  like  wild-fire  through  the  hungry  commu- 
nity, and  expectation  was  on  tiptoe  all  the  morning.  On  tiptoe 
it  was  destined  to  remain,  however,  until  afternoon  ;  when 
Squeers,  having  refreshed  himself  with  his  dinner,  and  fur- 
ther strengthened  himself  by  an  extra  libation  or  so,  made  his 
appearance  (accompanied  by  his  amiable  partner)  with  a  coun- 
tenance of  portentous  import,  and  a  fearful  instrument  of 
flagellation,  strong,  supple,  wax-ended,  and  new — in  short, 
purchased  that  morning  expressly  for  the  occasion. 

"  Is  every  boy  here  ?  "  asked  Squeers,  in  a  tremendous  voice. 

Every  boy  was  there,  but  every  boy  was  afraid  to  speak ;  so 


452  CHARLES  DICKENS 

Squeers  glared  along  the  lines  to  assure  himself ;  and  every  eye 
drooped,  and  every  head  cowered  down,  as  he  did  so. 

"  Each  boy  keep  his  place,"  said  Squeers,  administering  his 
favorite  blow  to  the  desk,  and  regarding  with  gloomy  satisfac- 
tion the  universal  start  which  it  never  failed  to  occasion. 
"  Nickleby  !  to  your  desk,  sir." 

It  was  remarked  by  more  than  one  small  observer  that  there 
was  a  very  curious  and  unusual  expression  in  the  usher's  face ; 
but  he  took  his  seat  without  opening  his  lips  in  reply.  Squeers, 
casting  a  triumphant  glance  at  his  assistant  and  a  look  of  most 
comprehensive  despotism  on  the  boys,  left  the  room,  and 
shortly  afterward  returned,  dragging  Smike  by  the  collar — or 
rather  by  that  fragment  of  his  jacket  which  was  nearest  the 
place  where  his  collar  would  have  been,  had  he  boasted  such  a 
decoration. 

In  any  other  place,  the  appearance  of  the  wretched,  jaded, 
spiritless  object  would  have  occasioned  a  murmur  of  compas- 
sion and  remonstrance.  It  had  some  effect  even  there ;  for  the 
lookers-on  moved  uneasily  in  their  seats,  and  a  few  of  the 
boldest  ventured  to  steal  looks  at  each  other,  expressive  of 
indignation  and  pity. 

They  were  lost  on  Squeers,  however,  whose  gaze  was  fastened 
on  the  luckless  Smike,  as  he  inquired,  according  to  custom  in 
such  cases,  whether  he  had  anything  to  say  for  himself. 

"  Nothing,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Squeers,  with  a  diabolical  grin. 

Smike  glanced  round,  and  his  eye  rested,  for  an  instant,  on 
Nicholas,  as  if  he  had  expected  him  to  intercede ;  but  his  look 
was  riveted  on  his  desk. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?  "  demanded  Squeers  again ; 
giving  his  right  arm  two  or  three  flourishes  to  try  its  power 
and  suppleness.  "  Stand  a  little  out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Squeers, 
my  dear ;  I've  hardly  got  room  enough." 

"  Spare  me,  sir !  "  cried  Smike. 

"Oh!  that's  all,  is  it?"  said  Squeers.  "Yes,  I'll  flog  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  life,  and  spare  you  that." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  laughed  Mrs.  Squeers,  "  that's  a  good  'un !  " 


DOTHEBOY8  HALL  453 

"  I  was  driven  to  do  it,"  said  Smike,  faintly ;  and  casting 
another  imploring  look  about  him. 

"  Driven  to  do  it,  were  you  ?  "  said  Squeers.  "  Oh !  it  wasn't 
your  fault ;  it  was  mine,  I  suppose — eh  ?  " 

"  A  nasty,  ungrateful,  pig-headed  brutish,  obstinate,  sneaking 
dog/'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Squeers,  taking  Smike's  head  under  her 
arm,  and  administering  a  cuff  at  every  epithet ;  "  what  does  he 
mean  by  that?" 

"  Stand  aside,  my  dear,"  replied  Squeers.  "  We'll  try  and 
find  out." 

Mrs.  Squeers  being  out  of  breath  with  her  exertions,  com- 
plied. Squeers  caught  the  boy  firmly  in  his  grip ;  one  desperate 
cut  had  fallen  on  his  body — he  was  wincing  from  the  lash  and 
uttering  a  scream  of  pain — it  was  raised  again,  and  again  about 
to  fall — when  Nicholas  Nickleby  suddenly  starting  up,  cried, 
"  Stop ! "  in  a  voice  that  made  the  rafters  ring. 

"  Who  cried  stop  ?  "  said  Squeers,  turning  savagely  round. 

"  I,"  said  Nicholas,  stepping  forward.  "  This  must  not  go 
on." 

"  Must  not  go  on !  "  cried  Squeers,  almost  in  a  shriek. 

"  No !  "  thundered  Nicholas. 

Aghast  and  stupefied  by  the  boldness  of  the  interference, 
Squeers  released  his  hold  of  Smike,  and,  falling  back  a  pace 
or  two,  gazed  upon  Nicholas  with  looks  that  were  positively 
frightful. 

"  I  say  must  not,"  repeated  Nicholas,  nothing  daunted ; 
"  shall  riot.  I  will  prevent  it." 

Squeers  continued  to  gaze  upon  him,  with  his  eyes  starting 
out  of  his  head ;  but  astonishment  had  actually  for  the  moment 
bereft  him  of  speech. 

"  You  have  disregarded  all  my  quiet  interference  in  the 
miserable  lad's  behalf,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "  you  have  returned  no 
answer  to  the  letter  in  which  I  begged  forgiveness  for  him,  and 
offered  to  be  responsible  that  he  would  remain  quietly  here. 
Don't  blame  me  for  this  public  interference.  You  have  brought 
it  upon  yourself;  not  I." 


454  CHARLES  DICKENS 

11  Sit  down,  beggar !  "  screamed  Squeers,  almost  beside  him- 
self with  rage,  and  seizing  Smike  as  he  spoke. 

"  Wretch,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  fiercely,  "  touch  him  at  your 
peril !  I  will  not  stand  by  and  see  it  done.  My  blood  is  up, 
and  I  have  the  strength  of  ten  such  men  as  you.  Look  to 
yourself,  for  by  Heaven  I  will  not  spare  you,  if  you  drive 
me  on  ! " 

"  Stand  back  !  "  cried  Squeers,  brandishing  his  weapon. 

"  I  have  a  long  series  of  insults  to  avenge,"  said  Nicholas, 
flushed  with  passion ;  "  and  my  indignation  is  aggravated  by 
the  dastardly  cruelties  practiced  on  helpless  infancy  in  this  foul 
den.  Have  a  care ;  for  if  you  do  raise  the  devil  within  me,  the 
consequences  shall  fall  heavily  upon  your  own  head  !  " 

He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  Squeers,  in  a  violent  outbreak 
of  wrath,  and  with  a  cry  like  the  howl  of  a  wild  beast,  spat 
upon  him,  and  struck  him  a  blow  across  the  face  with  his 
instrument  of  torture,  which  raised  up  a  bar  of  livid  flesh  as 
it  was  inflicted.  Smarting  with  the  agony  of  the  blow  and 
concentrating  into  that  one  moment  all  his  feelings  of  rage, 
scorn  and  indignation,  Nicholas  sprang  upon  him,  wrested  the 
weapon  from  his  hand,  and  pinning  him  by  the  throat,  beat 
the  ruffian  till  he  roared  for  mercy. 

The  boys — with  the  exception  of  Master  Squeers,  who,  com- 
ing to  his  father's  assistance,  harassed  the  enemy  in  the  rear — 
moved  not,  hand  or  foot ;  but  Mrs.  Squeers,  with  many  shrieks 
for  aid,  hung  on  to  the  tail  of  her  partner's  coat,  and  endeavored 
to  drag  him  from  his  infuriated  adversary  ;  while  Miss  Squeers 
who  had  been  peeping  through  the  key-hole  in  the  expectation 
of  a  very  different  scene,  darted  in  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
attack,  and  after  launching  a  shower  of  ink-stands  at  the 
usher's  head,  beat  Nicholas  to  her  heart's  content,  animating 
herself,  at  every  blow,  with  the  recollection  of  his  having 
refused  her  proffered  love,  and  thus  imparting  additional 
strength  to  an  arm  which  (as  she  took  after  her  mother  in  this 
respect)  was,  at  no  time,  one  of  the  weakest. 

Nicholas,  in  the  full  torrent  of  his  violence,  felt  the  blows  no 


DOTHEBOYS  HALL  455 

more  than  if  they  had  been  dealt  with  feathers ;  but,  becoming 
tired  of  the  noise  and  uproar,  and  feeling  that  his  arm  grew 
weak  besides,  he  threw  all  his  remaining  strength  into  half-a- 
dozen  finishing  cuts,  and  flung  Squeers  from  him,  with  all  the 
force  he  could  muster.  The  violence  of  his  fall  precipitated 
Mrs.  Squeers  completely  over  an  adjacent  form ;  and  Squeers, 
striking  his  head  against  it  in  his  descent,  lay  at  his  full  length 
on  the  ground,  stunned  and  motionless. 

Having  brought  affairs  to  this  happy  termination,  and  ascer- 
tained, to  his  thorough  satisfaction,  that  Squeers  was  only 
stunned,  and  not  dead  (upon  which  point  he  had  had  some 
unpleasant  doubts  at  first),  Nicholas  left  his  family  to  restore 
him,  and  retired  to  consider  what  course  he  had  better  adopt. 
He  looked  anxiously  round  for  Smike,  as  he  left  the  room,  but 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

After  a  brief  consideration,  he  packed  up  a  few  clothes  in 
a  small  leathern  valise,  and,  finding  that  nobody  offered  to 
oppose  his  progress,  marched  boldly  out  by  the  front  door,  and, 
shortly  afterward,  struck  into  the  road  which  led  to  Greta 
Bridge. 


WILLIAM    MATHEWS 

1818 

WILLIAM  MATHEWS  was  born  in  Waterville,  Maine,  in  1818.  He  was 
a  precocious  pupil,  and  entered  Waterville  College  (now  Colby  Uni- 
versity), at  the  age  of  thirteen.  Here  he  was  graduated  in  1835.  He 
studied  law  at  Harvard  University,  but  abandoned  the  legal  practice 
after  a  brief  experience  as  an  attorney.  He  established  at  Waterville 
a  famous  literary  paper,  the  Yankee  Blade,  which  was  subsequently 
transferred  to  Boston. 

Dr.  Mathews  removed  in  1856  to  Chicago,  where  he  engaged  in 
literary  work.  For  twelve  years  or  more  he  was  professor  of  litera- 
ture in  the  University  of  Chicago.  Having  published  two  books  which 
had  an  extraordinary  sale,  he  resigned  his  chair  in  order  to  devote 
himself  wholly  to  literature.  In  1880  Dr.  Mathews  removed  to  Bos- 
ton, where  he  has  since  resided. 

His  principal  works  are  ' '  Getting  on  in  the  World  "  (which  has  been 
reproduced  in  London  and  in  Canada,  and  translated  into  Swedish, 
Norwegian  and  Magyar);  "The  Great  Conversers;"  "Words:  their 
Use  and  Abuse;"  "Hours  with  Men  and  Books;"  "Monday  Chats:  a 
Translation  of  Selections  from  Saint  Beuve's  '  Causeries  du  Lundi;'" 
" Orators  and  Oratory;  "  "  Literary  Style,  and  other  Essays;  "  "Men, 
Places  and  Things,"  and  "  Wit  and  Humor:  their  Use  and  Abuse." 

Characterization 

It  is  not  every  one  who  has  been  able  to  be  useful  when  aiming  to 
amuse,  or  so  sensible  while  amusing,  as  has  Dr.  Mathews.  Humor 
and  good  sense  have  gone  to  the  making  of  this  volume  ("  Hours  with 
Men  and  Books").  A  book  that  encourages  the  love  of  letters  is  so 
rare  in  this  country  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  grateful  to  Dr. 
Mathews  for  one  that  is  so  kindly  and  attractive. 

"ATLANTIC  MONTHLY." 

Dr.  Mathews   appears  to  have   known  everybody  worth  knowing, 
to  have  seen  everything  worth  seeing,  to  have  read  everything  worth 
45G 


JUDGE  STOUT  A3  A    TEACHER  457 

reading,  and  to  have  forgotten  nothing  worth  remembering.  With- 
out the  garb  or  the  rod  of  the  teacher,  he  allures  to  the  bright  realms 
of  literature,  and  leads  the  way  through  smooth  and  delightful  paths. 

"NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE." 


Judge  Story   as   a  Teacher 

(Prom  "  Hours  with  Men  and  Books  ") 1 

In  the  year  1836  the  writer  entered  the  Law  School  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  saw,  for  the  first  time,  Judge  Story,  whose  pupil 
he  was  for  some  two  years  to  be.  Rarely  has  the  physiognomy 
of  a  distinguished  man  whose  looks  we  had  previously  pictured 
to  ourself  contrasted  so  strikingly  as  in  this  instance  with  our 
ideal.  Instead  of  a  man  "  severe  and  stern  to  view,"  with  an 
awe-inspiring  countenance  in  every  hue  and  lineament  of  which 
justice  was  legibly  written,  and  whose  whole  demeanor  mani- 
fested a  fearful  amount  of  stiffness,  starch,  and  dignity, — in 
short,  an  incarnation  of  law,  bristling  all  over  with  technicali- 
ties and  subtleties, — a  walking  Coke  upon  Littleton, — we  saw 
before  us  a  sunny,  smiling  face  which  bespoke  a  heart  full  of 
kindness,  and  listened  to  a  voice  whose  musical  tones  imparted 
interest  to  everything  it  communicated,  whether  dry  subtleties 
of  the  law  or  reminiscences  of  the  "  giants  in  those  days,"  when 
he  was  a  practitioner  at  the  bar,  and  of  which  he  was  so  elo- 
quent a  panegyrist. 

Further  acquaintance  deepened  our  first  impressions;  we 
found  that  he  was  the  counselor,  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend 
of  all  his  pupils ;  that  without  the  slightest  forfeiture  of  self- 
respect  he  could  chat,  jest,  and  laugh  with  all ;  and  that  if  he 
never  looked  the  Supreme  Court  judge,  or  assumed  the  airs  of  a 
Sir  Oracle,  it  was  simply  because  he  had  a  real  dignity  and  in- 
ward greatness  of  soul  which  rendered  it  needless  that  he  should 
protect  himself  from  intrusion  by  any  chevaux-de-frise2  of  for- 
malities,— still  less  by  the  frizzled,  artificial  locks,  black  robes, 
and  portentous  seals  of  a  British  judge,  who  without  the  insignia 

1  By  permission  of  the  publishers,  S.  C.  Griggs  &  Co. 
8  dread-naught  cavalry — main  dependence 


458  WILLIAM  MA  THEWS 

of  his  office  would  almost  despise  himself.  Overflowing  as  the 
judge  was  with  legal  lore,  which  bubbled  up  as  from  a  peren- 
nial fountain,  he  made  no  display  of  learning ;  in  this  matter, 
as  in  the  other,  he  never  led  one  to  suspect  the  absence  of  the 
reality  by  his  over-preciseness  and  niceness  about  the  shadow. 
His  pupil  did  not  pass  many  hours  in  his  presence  before  he 
learned,  too,  that  the  same  fertile  mind  that  could  illumine  the 
depths  of  constitutional  law  and  solve  the  knottiest  and  most 
puzzling  problems  of  commercial  jurisprudence  could  also  en- 
liven the  monotony  of  recitation  by  a  keen  witticism  or  a  spark- 
ling pun.  Though  thirty  years  and  more  have  elapsed  since 
the  time  of  which  we  speak,  we  can  yet  see  him  in  fancy  as 
plainly  as  we  see  his  portrait  hanging  before  us.  It  is  two 
o'clock,  P.M.  ;  he  walks  briskly  into  the  recitation-room,  his  face 
wreathed  with  smiles,  and,  laying  down  his  white  hat,  takes 
his  seat  at  the  table,  puts  on  his  spectacles,  and,  with  a  semi- 
quizzical  look,  inquires  as  he  glances  about  the  room  : 

"  Where  do  I  begin  to-day  ?  Ah  !  Mr.  L ,  I  believe  you 

dodged  out,  yesterday,  just  before  I  reached  you ;  so  we'll  begin 
with  you." 

This  sally  provokes  a  laugh,  in  which  the  judge  joins  as 
heartily  as  the  students ;  and  then  begins  perhaps  an  examina- 
tion in  "  Long  on  Sales,"  a  brief  treatise,  which  suggests  the 
remark  that  "  Long  is  short,  and  short  because  he  is  Long ;  a 
writer  who  can  condense  into  a  small  book  what  others  would 
spin  out  into  volumes." 

Probably  no  two  teachers  of  equal  ability  were  ever  associ- 
ated who  were  more  unlike  in  the  constitution  of  their  minds, 
and  who  conducted  a  recitation  in  modes  more  dissimilar,  than 
Judge  Story  and  Professor  Greenleaf.  The  latter,  the  beau 
ideal 1  of  a  lawyer  in  his  physique,  was  severe  and  searching  in 
the  class-room,  probing  the  student  to  the  quick,  accepting  no 
half  answers  or  vague  general  statements  for  accurate  replies ; 
showing  no  mercy  to  laziness ;  and  when  he  commented  on  the 

1  a  conception  or  image  of  consummate  beauty,  formed  in  the  mind,  free  from 
all  the  deformities,  defects,  and  blemishes  which  nature  exhibits 


JUD&E  STORY  A8  A    TEACHER  459 

text,  it  was  always  in  the  fewest,  pithiest  words  that  would  con- 
vey the  ideas.  Language  in  his  mouth  seemed  to  have  pro- 
claimed a  sumptuary  law,  forbidding  that  it  should  in  any 
case  overstep  the  limits  of  the  thought.  Indolent  students  who 
had  skimmed  over  the  lesson  dreaded  his  scrutiny,  for  they 
knew  that  an  examination  by  him  was  a  literal  weighing  of 
their  knowledge — that  they  could  impose  on  him  by  no  shams. 
Judge  Story 's  forte,  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  lecturing,  not  in 
questioning ;  in  the  communication  of  information,  not  in  ascer- 
taining the  exact  sum  of  the  pupil's  knowledge.  In  most  cases 
his  questions  were  put  in  such  a  way  as  to  suggest  the  answer. 
For  example,  having  stated  two  modes  of  legal  proceeding 
under  certain  circumstances,  he  would  ask  the  student : 

"Would  you  adopt  the  former  course,  or  would  you  rather 
adopt  the  latter  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  adopt  the  latter,"  the  student  would  reply, 
who  perhaps  had  not  looked  at  the  lesson. 

"  You  are  right,"  would  be  the  comment  of  the  kind-hearted 
Dane  professor ;  "  Lord  Mansfield  himself  could  not  have 
answered  more  correctly."  Whether  he  was  too  good-natured 
to  put  the  student  on  the  rack,  or  thought  the  time  might  be 
more  profitably  spent,  we  know  not ;  but  no  one  feared  to  re- 
cite because  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  lesson. 

The  manner  of  the  judge,  when  lecturing,  was  that  of  an 
enthusiast  rather  than  of  a  professional  teacher.  The  recita- 
tion— if  recitation  it  could  be  called,  where  the  professor  was 
questioned  on  many  days  nearly  as  often  as  the  student — was 
not  confined  to  the  text-book ;  but  everything  that  could  throw 
light  on  the  subject  in  hand — all  the  limitations  or  modifica- 
tions of  the  principles  laid  down  by  the  author — were  fully 
stated  and  illustrated  by  numerous  apt  examples.  The  book 
was  merely  the  starting  point  whence  excursions  were  made 
into  all  the  cognate  provinces  of  the  law,  from  which  the  opima 
spolia  1  of  a  keen  and  searching  intellect  and  a  capacious  mem- 
ory could  be  gathered.  His  readiness  of  invention,  as  his  son 

1  the  richest  booty 


460  WILLIAM  MATHEWS 

has  remarked  in  the  biography  of  his  father,  was  particularly 
exhibited  in  the  facility  and  exhaustless  ingenuity  with  which 
he  supplied  fictitious  cases  to  illustrate  a  principle,  and  shaped 
the  circumstances  so  as  to  expose  and  make  prominent  the  vari- 
ous exceptions  to  which  it  was  subject.  Often  his  illustrations 
were  drawn  from  incidents  of  the  day,  and  the  listless  student 
whose  ears  had  been  pricked  up  by  some  amusing  tale  or  anec- 
dote, found  that  all  this  was  but  the  gilding  of  the  pill,  and 
that  he  had  been  cheated  into  swallowing  a  large  dose  of  legal 
wisdom.  Thus  "  he  attracted  the  mind  along,  instead  of  driv- 
ing it.  Alive  himself,  he  made  the  law  alive.  His  lectures 
were  not  bundles  of  dried  fagots,  but  budding  scions.  Like  the 
Chinese  juggler,  he  planted  the  seed,  and  made  it  grow  before 
the  eyes  of  his  pupils  into  a  tree." 

Few  men  have  ever  been  less  subject  to  moods.  He  had  no 
fits  of  enthusiasm.  Of  those  alternations  of  mental  sunshine 
and  gloom — of  buoyancy  and  depression — to  which  most  men, 
and  especially  men  of  genius,  are  subject,  he  seemed  to  know 
nothing.  Nor  did  he,  even  when  most  overwhelmed  with  work, 
manifest  any  sense  of  weariness.  After  having  tried  a  tedious 
and  intricate  case  in  the  United  States  Court-room  in  Boston,  he 
was  as  fresh,  elastic,  and  vivacious  in  the  recitation  room  as  if 
he  had  taken  a  mountain  walk  or  some  other  bracing  exercise. 
He  had  that  rare  gift,  the  faculty  of  communicating;  and  loved, 
above  all  things  else,  to  communicate  knowledge.  The  one  rul- 
ing passion  of  his  mind  was  what  the  French  writer  calls  "  un 
gout  dominant  d'instruire  et  documenter  quelqu'un."1  Few  men  with 
equal  stores  of  learning  have  had  a  more  perfect  command  of 
their  acquisitions.  All  his  knowledge,  whether  gathered  from 
musty  black-letter  folios  or  from  modern  octavos,  was  at  the  tip 
of  his  tongue.  He  had  no  unsmelted  gold  or  bullion,  but  kept 
his  intellectual  riches  in  the  form  of  current  coin,  as  negotiable 
as  it  was  valuable.  His  extraordinary  fluency,  his  vast  acquire- 
ments, his  sympathy  with  the  young,  and  especially  his  per- 
sonal magnetism,  eminently  fitted  him  to  be  a  teacher.  To 
1  a  ruling  desire  to  instruct  and  to  document  somebody 


JUDGE  STORY  AS  A    TEACHER  461 

smooth  the  pathway  of  the  legal  learner,  to  give  a  clew  by 
which  to  thread  the  labyrinths  of  jurisprudence,  to  hold  a  torch 
by  which  to  light  his  way  through  its  dark  passages — above  all, 
to  kindle  in  his  breast  some  of  his  own  ever-burning  enthusi- 
asm—was  to  the  judge  a  constant  joy.  We  doubt  if  ever  a  dull 
hour  was  known  in  his  lecture-room.  His  perennial  liveliness ; 
his  frankness  and  abandon ;  his  "  winning  smile,  that  played 
lambent  as  heat-lightning  around  his  varying  countenance  ;  " 
his  bubbling  humor ;  his  contagious,  merry  and  irresistible 
laugh  ;  his  exhaustless  fund  of  incident  and  anecdote,  with 
which  he  never  failed  to  give  piquancy  and  zest  to  the  driest 
and  most  crabbed  themes — all  won  not  only  the  attention,  but 
the  love  of  his  pupils,  and  he  who  could  have  yawned  amid 
such  stimulants  to  attention,  must  have  been  dull  indeed.  Only 
a  dunce  or  a  beatified  intelligence  could  listen  uninterested  to 
such  a  teacher. 

Judge  Story  was  fond  of  telling  that  Mr.  Webster,  on  one  or 
two  occasions,  after  grumbling  at  a  legal  decision  of  the  former, 
had  afterwards  the  magnanimity  to  acknowledge  that  he  was 
wrong.  We  are  sure  that  when  the  judge  himself  was  in  error, 
he  was  frank,  on  discovering  it,  to  avow  the  fact.  One  day  in 
the  Moot  Court,  as  a  student,  arguing  a  case  before  him,  said : 
"  My  next  authority  will  be  one  which  Your  Honor  will  not  be 
disposed  to  question — a  decision  by  Mr.  Justice  Story,  of  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court — "  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
the  judge,  bowing,  "  but  that  opinion  by  Mr.  Justice  Story  is 
not  law." 

It  was  well  observed  by  Charles  Sumner,  in  his  eulogy  of 
Judge  Story,  that  any  just  estimate  of  the  man  and  his  works 
must  have  regard  to  his  three  different  characters — as  a  judge, 
as  an  author,  and  as  a  teacher.  When  we  look  at  his  books 
only,  we  are  astonished  at  his  colossal  industry :  it  seems  al- 
most incredible  that  a  single  mind,  in  a  single  life,  should  have 
been  able  to  accomplish  so  much.  His  written  judgments  on 
his  own  circuit,  and  his  various  commentaries,  occupy  twenty- 
seven  volumes,  and  his  judgments  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 


462  WILLIAM  MATHEW8 

United  States  form  an  important  part  of  thirty-four  volumes. 
Rightly  does  Mr.  Sumner  characterize  him  as  the  Lope  de  Vega, 
or  the  Walter  Scott,  of  the  Common  Law.  With  far  more  truth 
might  it  be  said  of  him,  than  was  said  by  Dryden  of  one  of  the 
greatest  British  lawyers : 

"  Our  law,  that  did  a  boundless  ocean  seem. 
Was  coasted  all,  and  fathomed  all  by  him." 

Besides  all  his  legal  labors  he  delivered  many  discourses  on 
literary  and  scientific  subjects,  wrote  many  biographical  sketches 
of  his  contemporaries,  elaborated  reviews  for  the  North  Ameri- 
can, drew  up  learned  memorials  to  Congress,  made  long  speeches 
in  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  contributed  largely  to  the  "  En- 
cyclopaedia Americana,"  prepared  Reports  on  Codification,  etc., 
and  drafted  some  of  the  most  important  Acts  of  Congress.  The 
secret  of  these  vast  achievements  was  ceaseless,  methodical  in- 
dustry, frequent  change  of  labor,  and  concentration  of  mind. 
He  economized  odd  moments,  bits  and  fragments  of  time,  never 
overworked,  and,  when  he  worked,  concentrated  upon  the  sub- 
ject all  the  powers  of  his  intellect.  Add  to  this  that  his  knowl- 
edge did  not  lie  in  undigested  heaps  in  his  mind,  but  was 
thoroughly  assimilated,  so  as  to  become  a  part  of  his  mental 
constitution.  His  brain  was  a  vast  repository  of  legal  facts  and 
principles,  each  one  of  which  had  its  cell  or  pigeon-hole,  from 
which  it  was  always  forthcoming  whenever  it  was  wanted. 

No  other  American  lawyer  or  jurist  has  so  wide-spread  a 
European  fame.  His  legal  works,  republished  in  England,  are 
recognized  as  of  the  highest  authority  in  all  the  courts  of  that 
country;  and  his  "  Conflict  of  Laws" — embodying  the  essence 
of  all  similar  works,  as  well  as  the  fruits  of  his  own  deep  think- 
ing— a  work  of  enormous  labor  upon  a  most  intricate  and 
perplexing  theme — has  been  translated  into  many  European 
languages,  and  is  cited  as  the  most  inexhaustible  discussion  of 
the  subject.  Yet — such  is  fame — this  man,  whose  name  has 
crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  was  on  the  lips  of  the  most  profound 
jurists  of  the  Old  World,  had  comparatively  little  reputation 


JUDGE  STORY  AS  A  TEACHER  463 

in  his  lifetime  among  his  own  countrymen.  Men  immeasura- 
bly inferior  to  him,  intellectually  and  morally,  overshadowed 
him  in  the  public  mind.  And  yet  no  man  was  more  suscepti- 
ble to  merited  praise  than  he.  While  he  despised  flattery  and 
could  detect  the  least  taint  of  it  with  the  quickness  of  an  instinct, 
his  heart  was  yet  as  fresh  and  tender  as  a  child's,  and  he  felt 
neglect  as  keenly  as  the  bud  the  frost.  Not  soon  shall  we  for- 
get the  good  humor,  mingled  with  a  sensibility  that  could  not 
be  concealed,  with  which  he  told  the  following  story  of  himself, 
illustrating  the  saying  that  "  a  prophet  is  not  without  honor, 
save  in  his  own  country  " : 

"  One  day  I  was  called  suddenly  to  Boston  to  attend  to  some 
business  matters,  and  on  my  way  thither  I  discovered  that  I  had 
forgotten  my  pocket-book.  It  was  too  late  to  return,  and  so, 
when  the  omnibus  halted  at  the  Port  (Cambridgeport,  half  way 
between  Old  Cambridge,  the  judge's  residence,  and  Boston),  I 
ran  hastily  into  the  neighboring  bank,  and  asked  to  be  accom- 
modated with  a  hundred  dollars.  The  cashier  stared  at  me  as 
if  he  thought  me  insane ;  but  I  noticed  that  he  particularly 
scrutinized  my  feet ;  and  then  he  coldly  informed  me  that  he 
had  not  the  pleasure  of  recognizing  me.  I  immediately  told 
him  my  name,  supposing  that  it  might  have  reached,  at  least, 
the  limits  of  my  own  place  of  residence.  He  still  kept  his  eyes 
upon  my  feet,  and  finally,  as  I  was  about  to  leave,  more  cha- 
grined than  disappointed,  he  requested  me  to  step  back,  add- 
ing that  he  would  be  pleased  to  accommodate  me.  Upon  my 
inquiring  the  reason  of  his  delay,  he  replied :  '  Sir,  I  have  never 
heard  your  name  before,  but  I  know  you  must  be  a  gentleman, 
from  the  looks  of  your  boots.' "  The  unction  and  perfect  good 
humor  with  which  the  judge  told  this  anecdote,  and  the  joyous 
laugh  with  which  he  concluded  it — aside  from  the  absurdity 
that  such  a  man  should  be  judged  of  by  the  material  under- 
standing— were  irresistible.  We  need  not  add  that  his  pupils 
laughed,  as  Falstaff  says,  "  without  intervellums " — till  their 
faces  were  "  like  a  wet  cloak  ill  laid  up." 

We  doubt  if  any  teacher  ever  loved  his  pupils  more  deeply, 


464  WILLIAM  MA  THEWS 

or  was  more  universally  loved  by  them,  than  the  subject  of  this 
article.  In  the  success  of  his  "  boys,"  as  he  called  them,  both 
at  the  school  and  in  their  after  life,  he  felt  a  profound  interest ; 
their  triumphs  were  his  triumphs,  and  their  failures  caused  him 
the  keenest  pain.  The  tact  with  which  he  adapted  himself  to 
the  various  temperaments  and  idiosyncrasies  of  his  pupils,  and 
the  patience  with  which  he  bore  any  one's  dullness,  were  also 
remarkable.  We  remember  that  one  day  a  somewhat  eccentric 
and  outspoken  student  from  Tennessee  came  to  the  judge  in 
the  library  of  the  Law  School,  and,  holding  up  an  old  folio, 
said:  "Judge,  what  do  you  understand  by  this  here  rule  in 
Shelley's  Case?  I've  been  studying  it  three  days,  and  can't 
make  anything  out  of  it."  "  Shelley's  Case !  Shelley's  Case !  " 
exclaimed  the  judge,  with  a  look  of  astonishment  as  he  took 
the  volume  and  held  it  up  before  his  eyes.  "  Do  you  expect  to 
understand  that  in  three  days  ?  Why,  it  took  me  three  weeks !  " 

Within  the  lifetime  of  Judge  Story,  a  volume  of  "  Miscel- 
lanies "  from  his  pen  was  published,  containing  his  literary 
orations,  contributions  to  reviews,  and  his  beautiful  address  at 
the  consecration  of  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery.  There,  under 
the  trees  that  overshadow  the  lovely  dell  in  which  he  spoke, 
lie  his  remains ;  and  in  the  chapel,  near  the  entrance  to  this 
home  of  the  dead,  stands  a  marble  statue  of  the  great  jurist, 
executed  by  his  son,  W.  W.  Story,  the  sculptor  and  poet, — an 
exquisite  work  of  art,  in  which  all  the  characteristic  qualities 
of  the  original  are  idealized,  yet  most  faithfully  reproduced  and 
preserved. 


GEORGE    ELIOT 

1819-188O 

GEORGE  ELIOT  was  the  nom  de  plume  assumed  by  Mary  Ann  Evans, 
one  of  the  greatest  novelists  of  our  times.  She  was  born  at  Arbury 
Farm,  in  the  parish  of  Colton,  Warwickshire,  in  1819.  Her  father  was 
Robert  Evans,  a  carpenter,  whose  character  is  portrayed  with  more  or 
less  truth  in  the  person  of  Adam  Bede.  At  an  early  age  she  attended 
the  village  free  school,  and  in  1828  she  was  sent  to  a  boarding-school 
at  Nuneaton.  In  1832  she  attended  a  school  at  Coventry,  where  she 
remained  until  December,  1835.  Shortly  after  her  return  from  school, 
in  1836,  her  mother  died,  and  she  assumed  the  care  of  her  father's 
household.  In  1841  they  removed  to  Coventry,  where  she  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  family  of  Charles  Bray,  with  whom  she  became 
very  intimate.  This  connection  had  a  marked  effect  upon  her  religious 
opinions,  and  led  to  an  abandonment  of  her  orthodox  views.  At  about 
this  time  she  began  her  literary  work  by  a  translation  of  Strauss's 
"Life  of  Jesus." 

In  1849  her  father  died,  and  soon  afterwards  she  went  abroad.  Upon 
her  return  to  England,  in  1850,  she  became  assistant  editor  of  the  West- 
minster Review.  She  now  found  herself  in  the  center  of  a  large  liter- 
ary circle  which  included  George  Henry  Lewes,  with  whom  she  fell 
in  love.  In  1854  she  entered  into  a  connection  with  Mr.  Lewes,  which 
was  in  every  sense  a  marriage,  though  without  legal  sanction. 

In  1856,  urged  by  Mr.  Lewes,  she  wrote  her  first  novel,  "Amos  Bar- 
ton," which,  included  in  the  "Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,"  was  published 
in  BlackwoocTs  Magazine.  This  was  followed  by  "  Adam  Bede,"  the 
success  of  which  was  unprecedented. 

From  this  time  to  the  year  of  her  death  George  Eliot  wrote  indefati- 
gably,  and  she  has  contributed  some  of  the  finest  novels  to  be  found 
in  English  literature. 

In  1878,  Mr.  Lewes  died.  In  April,  1880,  George  Eliot  married  Mr. 
John  Walter  Cross,  but  their  married  life  was  of  brief  duration,  as 
she  died  in  December  of  the  same  year. 

Her  most  important  writings  are:  "Adam  Bede;"  "The  Mill  on 
the  Floss;  "  "Silas  Marner;  "  "Romola;  "  "  Felix  Holt,  the  Radical;  " 
"  Middlemarch ;  "  "Daniel  Deronda;"  "Scenes  from  Clerical  Life;" 
"  The  Spanish  Gypsy;  "  "The  Legend  of  Jubal,"  and  "  Theophrastus 
Such." 

s.  M.— 30  465 


466  GEORGE  ELIOT 


Characterization 

It  is  at  this  point  that  we  touch  the  secret  spring  of  George  Eliot's 
art:  her  whole  work  is  imbued  with  ethical  notions.  The  novel  is, 
no  less  than  the  poem,  a  criticism  of  life;  and  the  remarkable  influ- 
ence of  George  Eliot's  novels  has  been  mainly  due  to  the  consistent 
application  of  moral  ideas  to  the  problems  set  by  each  novel.  Their 
stimulative  effect  was  due  to  the  fact  that  her  ethical  views  were  in 
consonance  with  some  of  the  most  advanced  ideas  of  the  age.  The 
three  chief  principles  which  dominated  her  thinking  were  the  reign  of 
law  in  human  affairs,  the  solidarity  of  society,  and  the  constitution  of 
society  as  incarnate  history  (the  phrase  is  Riehl's).  Flowing  from 
these  were  the  ethical  laws  which  rule  the  world  of  her  novels,  the 
principle  summed  up  in  Novalis's  words,  "Character  is  Fate,"  the 
radiation  of  good  and  evil  deeds  throughout  society,  and  the  supreme 
claims  of  family  or  race.  Add  to  these  the  scientific  tone  of  impar- 
tiality, with  its  moral  analogue,  the  extension  of  sympathy  to  all.  and 
we  have  exhausted  the  idees  meres  of  George  Eliot's  ethical  system, 
which  differentiates  her  novels  from  all  others  of  the  age. 

JOSEPH  JACOBS. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  George  Eliot  touched  the  highest  point 
which,  in  a  woman,  has  been  reached  in  our  literature.  .  .  .  The 
remarkable  thing  about  George  Eliot's  genius  is  that  though  there  is 
nothing  at  all  unfeminine  in  it — if  we  except  a  certain  touch  of  scien- 
tific pedantry  which  is  not  pedantry  in  motive,  but  due  only  to  a  rather 
awkward  manipulation  of  somewhat  unfeminine  learning — its  great- 
est qualities  are  not  the  least  the  qualities  in  which  women  have 
usually  surpassed  men,  but  rather  the  qualities  in  which,  till  George 
Eliot's  time,  women  had  always  been  notably  deficient.  Largeness  of 
mind,  largeness  of  conception,  was  her  first  characteristic,  as  regards 
both  matters  of  reason  and  matters  of  imagination.  .  .  .  Her  own 
nature  was  evidently  sedate  and  rather  slow-moving,  with  a  touch  of 
Miltonic  stateliness  in  it,  and  a  love  of  elaboration  at  times  even  injuri- 
ous to  her  genius.  Yet  no  characters  she  ever  drew  were  more  power- 
ful than  those  at  the  very  opposite  pole  to  her  own.  .  .  .  Her 
greatest  stories  lose  in  form  by  their  too  wide  reflectiveness,  and  espe- 
cially by  an  engrafted  mood  of  artificial  reflectiveness  not  suitable 
to  her  genius.  .  .  .  No  novelist,  however,  in  the  whole  series  of 
English  novelists,  has  combined  so  much  power  of  painting  external 
life  on  a  broad  canvas  with  so  wonderful  an  insight  into  the  life  of 

the  soul. 

"SPECTATOR." 


THE  NIGHT-SCHOOL  AND    THE  SCHOOLMASTER      467 

The   Night-School   and  the  Schoolmaster 

(From  "  Adam  Bede  ") 

Bartle  Massey's  was  one  of  a  few  scattered  houses  on  the  edge 
of  a  common  which  was  divided  by  the  road  to  Treddleston. 
Adam  reached  it  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  leaving  the  Hall 
Farm ;  and  when  he  had  his  hand  on  the  door  latch,  he  could 
see,  through  the  curtainless  window,  that  there  were  eight  or 
nine  heads  bending  over  the  desks,  lighted  by  thin  dips. 

When  he  entered,  a  reading  lesson  was  going  forward,  and 
Bartle  Massey  merely  nodded,  leaving  him  to  take  his  place 
where  he  pleased.  He  had  not  come  for  the  sake  of  a  lesson 
to-night,  and  his  mind  was  too  full  of  personal  matters,  too  full 
of  the  first  two  hours  he  had  passed  in  Hetty's  presence,  for  him 
to  amuse  himself  with  a  book  till  school  was  over ;  so  he  sat 
down  in  a  corner,  and  looked  on  with  an  absent  mind.  It  was 
a  sort  of  scene  which  Adam  had  beheld  almost  weekly  for 
years  ;  he  knew  by  heart  every  arabesque  flourish  in  the  framed 
specimen  of  Bartle  Massey's  handwriting  which  hung  over  the 
schoolmaster's  head,  by  way  of  keeping  a  lofty  ideal  before  the 
minds  of  his  pupils ;  he  knew  the  backs  of  all  the  books  on 
the  shelf  running  along  the  whitewashed  wall  above  the  pegs 
for  the  slates  ;  he  knew  exactly  how  many  grains  were  gone  out 
of  the  ear  of  Indian-corn  that  hung  from  one  of  the  rafters ;  he 
had  long  ago  exhausted  the  resources  of  his  imagination  in 
trying  to  think  how  the  bunch  of  feathery  seaweed  had  looked 
and  grown  in  its  native  element;  and. from  the  place  where  he 
sat  he  could  make  nothing  of  the  old  map  of  England  that 
hung  against  the  opposite  wall,  for  age  had  turned  it  of  a  fine 
yellow-brown,  something  like  that  of  a  well-seasoned  meer- 
schaum. The  drama  that  was  going  on  was  almost  as  familiar 
as  the  scene ;  nevertheless  habit  had  not  made  him  indifferent 
to  it,  and  even  in  his  present  self-absorbed  mood,  Adam  felt  a 
momentary  stirring  of  the  old  fellow-feeling  as  he  looked  at  the 
rough  men  painfully  holding  pen  or  pencil  with  their  cramped 
hands,  or  humbly  laboring  through  their  reading  lesson. 


468  GEORGE  ELIOT 

The  reading  class  now  seated  on  the  form  in  front  of  the 
schoolmaster's  desk,  consisted  of  the  three  most  backward 
pupils.  Adam  would  have  known  it,  only  by  seeing  Bartle 
Massey's  face  as  he  looked  over  his  spectacles,  which  he  had 
shifted  to  the  ridge  of  his  nose,  not  requiring  them  for  present 
purposes.  The  face  wore  its  mildest  expression;  the  grizzled 
bushy  eyebrows  had  taken  their  more  acute  angle  of  com- 
passionate kindness,  and  the  mouth,  habitually  compressed  with 
a  pout  of  the  lower  lip,  was  relaxed  so  as  to  be  able  to  speak  a 
hopeful  word  or  syllable  in  a  moment.  This  gentle  expression 
was  the  more  interesting  because  the  schoolmaster's  nose,  an 
irregular  aquiline  twisted  a  little  on  one  side,  had  rather  a  for- 
midable character;  and  his  brow,  moreover,  had  that  peculiar 
tension  which  always  impresses  one  as  a  sign  of  a  keen  impa- 
tient temperament ;  the  blue  veins  stood  out  like  cords  under 
the  transparent  yellow  skin,  and  this  intimidating  brow  was 
softened  by  no  tendency  to  baldness,  for  the  gray  bristly  hair, 
cut  down  to  about  an  inch  in  length,  stood  round  it  in  as  close 
ranks  as  ever. 

"  Nay,  Bill,  nay,"  Bartle  was  saying,  in  a  kind  tone,  as  he 
nodded  to  Adam,  "  begin  that  again,  and  then,  perhaps,  it'll 
come  to  you  what  d,  r,  y,  spells.  It's  the  same  lesson  you  read 
last  week,  you  know." 

"  Bill  "  was  a  sturdy  fellow,  aged  four-and-twenty,  an  excellent 
stone-sawyer,  who  could  get  as  good  wages  as  any  man  in  the 
trade  of  his  years ;  but  he  found  a  reading  lesson  in  words  of 
one  syllable  a  harder  matter  to  deal  with  than  the  hardest 
stone  he  had  ever  had  to  saw.  The  letters,  he  complained, 
were  so  "  uncommon  alike,  there  was  no  tellin'  'em  one  from 
another,"  the  sawyer's  business  not  being  concerned  with  min- 
ute differences  such  as  exist  between  a  letter  with  its  tail  turned 
up  and  a  letter  with  its  tail  turned  down.  But  Bill  had  a  firm 
determination  that  he  would  learn  to  read,  founded  chiefly  on 
two  reasons :  first,  that  Tom  Hazelow,  his  cousin,  could  read 
anything  "  right  off,"  whether  it  was  print  or  writing,  and  Tom 
had  sent  him  a  letter  from  twenty  miles  -off,  saying  how  he  was 


THE  NIGHT-SCHOOL  AND    THE  SCHOOLMASTER       469 

prospering  in  the  world,  and  had  got  an  overlooker's  place; 
secondly,  that  Sam  Philips,  who  sawed  with  him,  had  learned 
to  read  when  he  was  turned  twenty ;  and  what  could  be  done 
by  a  little  fellow  like  Sam  Philips,  Bill  considered,  could  be 
done  by  himself,  seeing  that  he  could  pound  Sam  into  wet  clay 
if  circumstances  required  it.  So  here  he  was,  pointing  his  big 
finger  toward  three  words  at  once,  and  turning  his  head  on  one 
side  that  he  might  keep  better  hold  with  his  eye  of  the  one  word 
which  was  to  be  discriminated  out  of  the  group.  The  amount 
of  knowledge  Bartle  Massey  must  possess  was  something  so  dim 
and  vast  that  Bill's  imagination  recoiled  before  it;  he  would 
hardly  have  ventured  to  deny  that  the  schoolmaster  might 
have  something  to  do  in  bringing  about  the  regular  return  of 
daylight  and  the  changes  in  the  weather. 

The  man  seated  next  to  Bill  was  of  a  very  different  type ;  he 
was  a  Methodist  brickmaker,  who,  after  spending  thirty  years 
of  his  life  in  perfect  satisfaction  with  his  ignorance,  had  lately 
"  got  religion,"  and  along  with  it  the  desire  to  read  the  Bible. 
But  with  him,  too,  learning  was  a  heavy  business,  and  on  his 
way  out  to-night  he  had  offered  as  usual  a  special  prayer  for 
help,  seeing  that  he  had  undertaken  this  hard  task  with  a 
single  eye  to  the  nourishment  of  his  soul — that  he  might  have 
a  greater  abundance  of  texts  and  hymns  wherewith  to  banish 
evil  memories  and  the  temptations  of  old  habits ;  or,  in  brief 
language,  the  devil.  For  the  brickmaker  had  been  a  notorious 
poacher,  and  was  suspected,  though  there  was  no  good  evidence 
against  him,  of  being  the  man  who  had  shot  a  neighboring 
gamekeeper  in  the  leg.  However  that  might  be,  it  is  certain 
that  shortly  after  the  accident  referred  to,  which  was  coinci- 
dent with  the  arrival  of  an  awakening  Methodist  preacher  at 
Treddleston,  a  great  change  had  been  observed  in  the  brick- 
maker  ;  and  though  he  was  still  known  in  the  neighborhood  by 
his  old  sobriquet  of  "  Brimstone,"  there  was  nothing  he  held  in 
so  much  horror  as  any  farther  transactions  with  that  evil- 
smelling  element.  He  was  a  broad-chested  fellow  with  a  fervid 
temperament,  which  helped  him  better  in  imbibing  religious 


470  GEORGE  ELIOT 

ideas  than  in  the  dry  process  of  acquiring  the  mere  human 
knowledge  of  the  alphabet.  Indeed,  he  had  been  already  a 
little  shaken  in  his  resolution  by  a  brother  Methodist,  who 
assured  him  that  the  letter  was  a  mere  obstruction  to  the  Spirit, 
and  expressed  a  fear  that  Brimstone  was  too  eager  for  the 
knowledge  that  puffeth  up. 

The  third  beginner  was  a  much  more  promising  pupil.  He 
was  a  tall  but  thin  and  wiry  man,  nearly  as  old  as  Brimstone, 
with  a  very  pale  face,  and  hands  stained  a  deep  blue.  He  was 
a  dyer,  who,  in  the  course  of  dipping  home-spun  wool  and  old 
women's  petticoats,  had  got  fired  with  the  ambition  to  learn  a 
great  deal  more  about  the  strange  secrets  of  color.  He  had 
already  a  high  reputation  in  the  district  for  his  dyes,  and  he 
was  bent  on  discovering  some  method  by  which  he  could 
reduce  the  expense  of  crimsons  and  scarlets.  The  druggist  at 
Treddleston  had  given  him  a  notion  that  he  might  save  himself 
a  great  deal  of  labor  and  expense  if  he  could  learn  to  read,  and 
so  he  had  begun  to  give  his  spare  hours  to  the  night-school, 
resolving  that  his  "  little  chap  "  should  lose  no  time  in  coming 
to  Mr.  Massey's  day-school  as  soon  as  he  was  old  enough. 

It  was  touching  to  see  these  three  big  men,  with  the  marks  of 
their  hard  labor  upon  them,  anxiously  bending  over  the  worn 
books,  and  painfully  making  out,  "  The  grass  is  green,"  "  The 
sticks  are  dry,"  "  The  corn  is  ripe  " — a  very  hard  lesson  to  pass 
to  after  columns  of  single  words  all  alike  except  in  the  first 
letter.  It  was  almost  as  if  three  rough  animals  were  making 
humble  efforts  to  learn  how  they  might  become  human.  And 
it  touched  the  tenderest  fiber  in  Bartle  Massey's  nature,  for 
such  full-grown  children  as  these  were  the  only  pupils  for 
whom  he  had  no  severe  epithets,  and  no  impatient  tones.  He 
was  not  gifted  with  an  imperturbable  temper,  and  on  music 
nights  it  was  apparent  that  patience  could  never  be  an  easy 
virtue  to  him ;  but  this  evening,  as  he  glances  over  his  spec- 
tacles at  Bill  Downes,  the  sawyer,  who  is  turning  his  head  on 
one  side  with  a  desperate  sense  of  blankness  before  the  letters, 
d,  r,  y,  his  eyes  shed  their  mildest  and  most  encouraging  light 


THE  NIGHT-SCHOOL  AND    THE  SCHOOLMASTER       471 

After  the  reading  class,  two  youths,  between  sixteen  and 
nineteen,  came  up  with  imaginary  bills  of  parcels,  which  they 
had  been  writing  out  on  their  slates,  and  were  now  required 
to  calculate  "  off-hand " — a  test  which  they  stood  with  such 
imperfect  success  that  Bartle  Massey,  whose  eyes  had  been 
glaring  at  them  ominously  through  his  spectacles  for  some 
minutes,  at  length  burst  out  in  a  bitter  high-pitched  tone, 
pausing  between  every  sentence  to  rap  the  floor  with  a  knobbed 
stick  which  rested  between  his  legs. 

"  Now,  you  see,  you  don't  do  this  thing  a  bit  better  than  you 
did  a  fortnight  ago ;  and  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  reason.  You 
want  to  learn  accounts ;  that's  well  and  good.  But  you  think 
all  you  need  do  to  learn  accounts  is  to  come  to  me  and  do  sums 
for  an  hour  or  so,  two  or  three  times  a  week  ;  and  no  sooner  do 
you  get  your  caps  on  and  turn  out  of  doors  again,  than  you 
sweep  the  whole  thing  clean  out  of  your  mind.  You  go 
whistling  about,  and  take  no  more  care  what  you're  thinking  of 
than  if  your  heads  were  gutters  for  any  rubbish  to  swill 
through  that  happened  to  be  in  the  way-;  and  if  you  get  a  good 
notion  in  'em,  it's  pretty  soon  washed  out  again.  You  think 
knowledge  is  to  be  got  cheap — you'll  come  and  pay  Bartle 
Massey  sixpence  a  week,  and  he'll  make  you  clever  at  figures 
without  your  taking  any  trouble.  But  knowledge  isn't  to  be 
got  by  paying  sixpence,  let  me  tell  you ;  if  you're  to  know 
figures,  you  must  turn  'em  over  in  your  own  heads,  and  keep 
your  thoughts  on  'em.  There's  nothing  you  can't  turn  into  a 
sum,  for  there's  nothing  but  what's  got  number  in  it — even  a 
fool.  You  may  say  to  yourselves,  '  I'm  one  fool  and  Jack's 
another ;  if  my  fool's  head  weighed  four  pound,  and  Jack's 
three  pound  three  ounces  and  three  quarters,  how  many  penny- 
weights heavier  would  my  head  be  than  Jack's  ?  A  man  that 
has  got  his  heart  in  learning  figures  would  make  sums  for  him- 
self, and  work  'em  in  his  head ;  when  he  sat  at  his  shoemaking, 
he'd  count  his  stitches  by  fives,  and  then  put  a  price  on  his 
stitches,  say  half  a  farthing,  and  then  see  how  much  money  he 
could  get  in  an  hour ;  and  then  ask  himself  how  much  money 


•172  GEORGE  ELIOT 

he'd  get  in  a  day  at  that  rate;  and  then  how  much  ten  work- 
men would  get  working  three,  or  twenty,  or  a  hundred  years  at 
that  rate — and  all  the  while  his  needle  would  be  going  just  as 
fast  as  if  he  left  his  head  empty  for  the  devil  to  dance  in.  But 
the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is — I'll  have  nobody  iii  my  iiight- 
school  that  doesn't  strive  to  learn  what  he  came  to  learn,  as 
hard  as  if  he  was  striving  to  get  out  of  a  dark  hole  into  broad 
daylight.  I'll  send  no  man  away  because  he  is  stupid  ;  if  Billy 
Taft,  the  idiot,  wanted  to  learn  anything,  I'd  not  refuse  to  teach 
him.  But  I'll  not  throw  away  good  knowledge  on  people  who 
think  they  can  get  it  by  the  sixpemi'orth,  and  carry  it  away 
with  them  as  they  would  an  ounce  of  snuff.  So  never  come  to 
me  again,  if  you  can't  show  that  you  have  been  working  with 
your  own  heads,  instead  of  thinking  you  can  pay  mine  to  work 
for  you.  That's  the  last  word  I've  got  to  say  to  you." 

With  this  final  sentence,  Bartle  Massey,  gave  a  sharper  rap 
than  ever  with  his  knobbed  stick,  and  the  discomfited  lads  got 
up  with  a  sulky  look. 

Tom's    "  First  Half" 

(From  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss  ") 

Tom  Tulliver's  sufferings  during  the  first  quarter  he  was  at 
King's  Lorton,  under  the  distinguished  care  of  the  Rev.  Walter 
Stelling,  were  rather  severe.  At  Mr.  Jacobs's  academy,  life  had 
not  presented  itself  to  him  as  a  difficult  problem :  there  were 
plenty  of  fellows  to  play  with,  and  Tom  being  good  at  all 
active  games — fighting  especially — had  that  precedence  among 
them  which  appeared  to  him  inseparable  from  the  personality 
of  Tom  Tulliver.  Mr.  Jacobs  himself,  familiarly  known  as  Old 
Goggles,  from  his  habit  of  wearing  spectacles,  imposed  no  pain- 
ful awe;  and  if  it  was  the  property  of  snuffy  ojd  hypocrites 
like  him  to  write  like  copper-plate  and  surround  their  signatures 
with  arabesques,  to  spell  without  forethought,  and  to  spout  "My 
Name  is  Norval "  without  bungling,  Tom,  for  his  part,  was 


TOM'S   "FIR8T  HALF"  473 

rather  glad  he  was  not  in  danger  of  those  mean  accomplish- 
ments. 

He  was  not  going  to  be  a  snuffy  schoolmaster — he ;  but  a 
substantial  man  like  his  father,  who  used  to  go  hunting  when 
he  was  younger,  and  rode  a  capital  black  mare — as  pretty  a 
bit  of  horse-flesh  as  ever  you  saw.  Tom  had  heard  what  her 
points  were  a  hundred  times.  He  meant  to  go  hunting  too, 
and  to  be  generally  respected.  When  people  were  growing  up, 
he  considered,  nobody  inquired  about  their  writing  and  spell- 
ing; when  he  was  a  man,  he  should  be  master  of  everything 
and  do  just  as  he  liked.  It  had  been  very  difficult  for  him  to 
reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  that  his  school-time  was  to  be  pro- 
longed, and  that  he  was  not  to  be  brought  up  to  his  father's 
business,  which  he  had  always  thought  extremely  pleasant,  for 
it  was  nothing  but  riding  about,  giving  orders,  and  going  to 
market ;  and  he  thought  that  a  clergyman  would  give  him  a 
great  many  Scripture  lessons,  and  probably  make  him  learn 
the  Gospel  and  Epistle  on  a  Sunday,  as  well  as  the  Collect. 

But  in  the  absence  of  specific  information  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  imagine  that  school  and  a  schoolmaster  would  be  some- 
thing entirely  different  from  the  academy  of  Mr.  Jacobs.  So,  not 
to  be  at  a  deficiency,  in  case  of  his  finding  genial  companions, 
he  had  taken  care  to  carry  with  him  a  small  box  of  percussion 
caps;  not  that  there  was  anything  particular  to  be  done  with 
them,  but  they  would  serve  to  impress  strange  boys  with  a 
sense  of  his  familiarity  with  guns.  Thus  poor  Tom,  though 
he  saw  very  clearly  through  Maggie's  illusions,  was  not  without 
illusions  of  his  own,  which  were  to  be  cruelly  dissipated  by  his 
enlarged  experience  at  King's  Lorton. 

He  had  not  been  there  a  fortnight  before  it  was  evident  that 
life,  complicated  not  only  with  the  Latin  grammar,  but  with  a 
new  standard  of  English  pronunciation,  was  a  very  difficult 
business,  made  all  the  more  obscure  by  a  thick  mist  of  bashful- 
ness.  Tom,  as  you  have  observed,  was  never  an  exception 
among  boys  for  ease  of  address ;  but  the  difficulty  of  enunciat- 
ing a  monosyllable  in  reply  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stelling  was  so 


474  GEORGE  ELIOT 

great,  that  he  even  dreaded  to  be  asked  at  the  table  whether 
he  would  have  more  pudding.  As  to  the  percussion-caps,  he 
had  almost  resolved,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  that  he 
would  throw  them  into  a  neighboring  pond  ;  for  not  only  was 
he  the  solitary  pupil,  but  he  began  to  have  a  certain  skepti- 
cism about  guns,  and  a  general  sense  that  his  theory  of  life 
was  undermined.  For  Mr.  Stelling  thought  nothing  of  guns, 
or  horses  either,  apparently ;  and  yet  it  was  impossible  for  Tom 
to  despise  Mr.  Stelling  as  he  had  despised  Old  Goggles.  If  there 
was  anything  that  was  not  thoroughly  genuine  about  Mr.  Stell- 
ing, it  lay  quite  beyond  Tom's  power  to  detect  it ;  it  is  only  by 
a  wide  comparison  of  facts  that  the  wisest  full-grown  man  can 
distinguish  well-rolled  barrels  from  more  supernal  thunder. 

Mr.  Stelling  was  a  well-sized,  broad-chested  man,  not  yet 
thirty,  with  flaxen  hair  standing  erect,  and  large  lightish-gray 
eyes,  which  were  always  very  wide  open ;  he  had  a  sonorous 
bass  voice,  and  an  air  of  defiant  self-confidence  inclining  to 
brazenness.  He  had  entered  on  his  career  with  great  vigor, 
and  intended  to  make  a  considerable  impression  on  his  fellow- 
men.  The  Rev.  Walter  Stelling  was  not  a  man  who  would 
remain  among  the  "  inferior  clergy "  all  his  life.  He  had  a 
true  British  determination  to  push  his  way  in  the  world.  As 
a  schoolmaster,  in  the  first  place ;  for  there  were  capital  master- 
ships of  grammar-schools  to  be  had,  and  Mr.  Stelling  meant 
to  have  one  of  them.  But  as  a  preacher  also,  for  he  meant 
always  to  preach  in  a  striking  manner,  so  as  to  have  his  con- 
gregation swelled  by  admirers  from  neighboring  parishes,  and 
to  produce  a  great  sensation  whenever  he  took  occasional  duty 
for  a  brother  clergyman  of  minor  gifts.  The  style  of  preach- 
ing he  had  chosen  was  the  extemporaneous,  which  was  held 
little  short  of  the  miraculous  in  rural  parishes  like  King's  Lor- 
ton.  Some  passages  of  Massillon  and  Bourdaloue,  which  he 
knew  by  heart,  were  really  very  effective  when  rolled  out  in 
Mr.  Stelling's  deepest  tones ;  but  as  comparatively  feeble  appeals 
of  his  own  were  delivered  in  the  same  manner,  they  were  often 
thought  quite  as  striking  by  his  hearers.  Mr.  Stelling's  doc- 


TOM'S   "  FIRST  HALF"  475 

trine  was  of  no  particular  school ;  if  anything,  it  had  a  tinge 
of  evangelicalism,  for  that  was  "  the  telling  thing  "  just  then  in 
the  diocese  to  which  King's  Lorton  belonged. 

In  short,  Mr.  Stelling  was  a  man  who  meant  to  rise  in  his 
profession,  and  to  rise  by  merit,  clearly,  since  he  had  no  inter- 
est beyond  what  might  be  promised  by  a  problematic  relation- 
ship to  a  great  lawyer  who  had  not  yet  become  Lord  Chancel- 
lor. A  clergyman  who  has  such  vigorous  intentions  naturally 
gets  a  little  into  debt  at  starting ;  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that 
he  will  live  in  the  style  of  a  man  who  means  to  be  a  poor 
curate  all  his  life,  and  if  the  few  hundreds  Mr.  Timpson  ad- 
vanced toward  his  daughter's  fortune  did  not  suffice  for  the 
purchase  of  handsome  furniture,  together  with  a  stock  of  wine, 
a  grand  piano,  and  the  laying  out  of  a  superior  flower-garden, 
it  followed  in  the  most  rigorous  manner,  either  that  these  things 
must  be  procured  by  some  other  means,  or  else  that  the  Hev. 
Mr.  Stelling  must  go  without  them — which  last  alternative 
would  be  an  absurd  procrastination  of  the  fruits  of  success, 
where  success  was  certain. 

Mr.  Stelling  was  so  broad-chested  and  resolute  that  he  felt 
equal  to  anything ;  he  would  become  celebrated  by  shaking 
the  consciences  of  his  hearers,  and  he  would  by-and-by  edit  a 
Greek  play,  and  invent  several  new  readings.  He  had  not  yet 
selected  the  play,  for  having  been  married  little  more  than  two 
years,  his  leisure  time  had  been  much  occupied  with  attentions 
to  Mrs.  Stelling ;  but  he  had  told  that  fine  woman  what  he 
meant  to  do  some  day,  and  she  felt  great  confidence  in  her  hus- 
band, as  a  man  who  understood  everything  of  that  sort. 

But  the  immediate  step  to  future  success  was  to  bring  on 
Tom  Tulliver  during  this  first  half-year ;  for,  by  a  singular  co- 
incidence, there  had  been  some  negotiation  concerning  another 
pupil  from  the  same  neighborhood,  and  it  might  further  a  deci- 
sion in  Mr.  Stelling's  favor,  if  it  were  understood  that  young 
Tulliver,  who,  Mr.  Stelling  observed  in  conjugal  privacy,  was 
rather  a  rough  cub,  had  made  prodigious  progress  in  a  short 
time.  It  was  on  this  ground  that  he  was  severe  with  Tom 


476  GEOBGE  ELIOT 

about  his  lessons :  he  was  clearly  a  boy  whose  powers  would 
never  be  developed  through  the  medium  of  the  Latin  gram- 
mar, without  the  application  of  some  sternness.  Not  that  Mr. 
Stelling  was  a  harsh-tempered  or  unkind  man — quite  the  con- 
trary ;  he  was  jocose  with  Tom  at  table,  and  corrected  his  pro- 
vincialisms and  his  deportment  in  the  most  playful  manner  ; 
but  poor  Tom  was  only  the  more  cowed  and  confused  by  this 
double  novelty,  for  he  had  never  been  used  to  jokes  at  all  like 
Mr.  Stelling's ;  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  a  pain- 
ful sense  that  he  was  all  wrong  somehow.  When  Mr.  Stelling 
said,  as  the  roast-beef  was  being  uncovered,  "  Now,  Tulliver ! 
which  would  you  rather  decline,  roast-beef,  or  the  Latin  for 
it?" — Tom,  to  whom  in  his  coolest  moment  a  pun  would  have 
been  a  hard  nut,  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  embarrassed  alarm 
that  made  everything  dim  to  him  except  the  feeling  that  he 
would  rather  not  have  anything  to  do  with  Latin ;  of  course 
he  answered,  "  Roast-beef,"  whereupon  there  followed  much 
laughter  and  some  practical  joking  with  the  plates,  from  which 
Tom  gathered  that  he  had  in  some  mysterious  way  refused 
beef,  and,  in  fact,  made  himself  appear  "  a  silly." 

If  he  could  have  seen  a  fellow-pupil  undergo  these  painful 
operations  and  survive  them  in  good  spirits,  he  might  sooner 
have  taken  them  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  there  are  two 
expensive  forms  of  education,  either  of  which  a  parent  may 
procure  for  his  son  by  sending  him  as  solitary  pupil  to  a 
clergyman :  one  is,  the  enjoyment  of  the  reverend  gentleman's 
undivided  neglect ;  the  other  is,  the  endurance  of  the  reverend 
gentleman's  undivided  attention.  It  was  the  latter  privilege 
for  which  Mr.  Tulliver  paid  a  high  price  in  Tom's  initiatory 
months  at  King's  Lorton. 

That  respectable  miller  and  malster  had  left  Tom  behind, 
and  driven  homeward  in  a  state  of  great  mental  satisfaction. 
He  considered  that  it  was  a  happy  moment  for  him  when  he 
had  thought  of  asking  Riley's  advice  about  a  tutor  for  Tom. 
Mr.  Stelling's  eyes  were  so  wide  open,  and  he  talked  in  such 
an  off-hand,  matter-of-fact  way — answering  every  difficult  slow 


TOM'S   "FIRST  HALF"  477 

remark  of  Mr.  Tulliver's  with,  "  I  see,  my  good  sir,  I  see ; "  "  To 
be  sure,  to  be  sure ;  "  "  You  want  your  son  to  be  a  man  who 
will  make  his  way  in  the  world," — that  Mr.  Tulliver  was  de- 
lighted to  find  in  him  a  clergyman  whose  knowledge  was  so 
applicable  to  the  every-day  affairs  of  this  life.  Except  Coun- 
selor Wylde,  whom  he  had  heard  at  the  last  sessions,  Mr.  Tul- 
liver thought  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stelling  was  the  shrewdest  fellow  he 
had  ever  met  with — not  unlike  Wylde,  in  fact ;  he  had  the 
same  way  of  sticking  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waist- 
coat. Mr.  Tulliver  was  not  by  any  means  an  exception  in  mis- 
taking brazenness  for  shrewdness :  most  laymen  thought  Stell- 
ing  shrewd,  and  a  man  of  remarkable  powers  generally ;  it  was 
chiefly  by  his  clerical  brethren  that  he  was  considered  rather 
a  dull  fellow.  But  he  told  Mr.  Tulliver  several  stories  about 
"  Swing  "  and  incendiarism,  and  asked  his  advice  about  feeding 
pigs  in  so  thoroughly  secular  and  judicious  a  manner,  with  so 
much  polished  glibness  of  tongue,  that  the  miller  thought  here 
was  the  very  thing  he  wanted  for  Tom.  He  had  no  doubt  this 
first-rate  man  was  acquainted  with  every  branch  of  information, 
and  knew  exactly  what  Tom  must  learn  in  order  to  become 
a  match  for  the  lawyers — which  poor  Mr.  Tulliver  himself 
did  not  know,  and  so  was  necessarily  thrown  for  self-direction 
on  this  wide  kind  of  inference.  It  is  hardly  fair  to  laugh  at 
him,  for  I  have  known  much  more  highly  instructed  persons 
than  he  make  inferences  quite  as  wide,  and  not  at  all  wiser. 

As  for  Mrs.  Tulliver — finding  that  Mrs.  Stelling's  views  as  to 
the  airing  of  linen  and  the  frequent  recurrence  of  hunger  in  a 
growing  boy,  entirely  coincided  with  her  own ;  moreover,  that 
Mrs.  Stelling,  though  so  young  a  woman,  and  only  anticipating 
her  second  confinement,  had  gone  through  very  nearly  the  same 
experience  as  herself  with  regard  to  the  behavior  and  funda- 
mental character  of  the  monthly  nurse — she  expressed  great 
contentment  to  her  husband,  when  they  drove  away,  at  leav- 
ing Tom  with  a  woman  who,  in  spite  of  her  youth,  seemed 
quite  sensible  and  motherly,  and  asked  advice  as  prettily  as 
could  be. 


478  GEORGE  ELIOT 

11  They  must  be  very  well  off,  though,"  said  Mrs.  Tulliver, 
"  for  everything's  as  nice  as  can  be  all  over  the  house,  and  that 
watered  silk  she  had  on  cost  a  pretty  penny.  Sister  Pullet  has 
got  one  like  it." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Tulliver,  "  he's  got  some  income  besides  the 
curacy,  I  reckon.  Perhaps  her  father  allows  'em  something. 
There's  Tom  'ull  be  another  hundred  to  him,  and  not  much 
trouble  either,  by  his  own  account ;  he  says  teaching  comes 
natural  to  him.  That's  wonderful,  now,"  added  Mr.  Tulliver, 
turning  his  head  on  one  side,  and  giving  his  horse  a  meditative 
tickling  on  the  flank. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  teaching  came  naturally  to  Mr.  Stell- 
ing,  that  he  set  about  it  with  that  uniformity  of  method  and 
independence  of  circumstances  which  distinguish  the  actions 
of  animals  understood  to  be  under  the  immediate  teaching 
of  nature.  Mr.  Broderip's  amiable  beaver,  as  that  charming 
naturalist  tells  us,  busied  himself  as  earnestly  in  constructing 
a  dam,  in  a  room  up  three  pairs  of  stairs  in  London,  as  if  he 
had  been  laying  his  foundation  in  a  stream  or  lake  in  Upper 
Canada.  It  was  "  Binny's  "  function  to  build :  the  absence  of 
water  or  of  possible  progeny  was  an  accident  for  which  he  was  not 
accountable.  With  the  same  unerring  instinct  Mr.  Stelling  set 
to  work  at  his  natural  method  of  instilling  the  Eton  Grammar 
and  Euclid  into  the  mind  of  Tom  Tulliver.  This,  he  consid- 
ered, was  the  only  basis  of  solid  instruction :  all  other  means  of 
education  were  mere  charlatanism,  and  could  produce  nothing 
better  than  smatterers.  Fixed  on  this  firm  basis,  a  man  might 
observe  the  display  of  various  or  special  knowledge  made  by 
irregularly  educated  people,  with  a  pitying  smile ;  all  that  sort 
of  thing  was  very  well,  but  it  was  impossible  these  people  could 
form  sound  opinions. 

In  holding  this  conviction  Mr.  Stelling  was  not  biased,  as 
some  tutors  have  been,  by  the  excessive  accuracy  or  extent  of 
his  own  scholarship ;  and  as  to  his  views  about  Euclid,  no 
opinion  could  have  been  freer  from  personal  partiality.  Mr. 
Stelling  was  very  far  from  being  led  astray  by  enthusiasm, 


TOM'S   "FIRST  HALF"  479 

either  religious  or  intellectual ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  no 
secret  belief  that  everything  was  humbug.  He  thought  religion 
was  a  very  excellent  thing  and  Aristotle  a  great  authority,  and 
deaneries  and  prebends  useful  institutions,  and  Great  Britain 
the  providential  bulwark  of  Protestantism,  and  faith  in  the 
unseen  a  great  support  to  afflicted  minds :  he  believed  in  all 
these  things  as  the  Swiss  hotel-keeper  believes  in  the  beauty  of 
the  scenery  around  him,  and  in  the  pleasure  it  gives  to  artistic 
visitors.  And  in  the  same  way  Mr.  Stelling  believed  in  his 
method  of  education ;  he  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  doing  the 
very  best  thing  for  Mr.  Tulliver's  boy.  Of  course,  when  the 
miller  talked  of  "  mapping  "  and  "  summing  "  in  a  vague  and 
diffident  manner,  Mr.  Stelling  had  set  his  mind  at  rest  by  an 
assurance  that  he  understood  what  was  wanted ;  for  how  was  it 
possible  the  good  man  could  form  any  reasonable  judgment 
about  the  matter  ?  Mr.  Stelling's  duty  was  to  teach  the  lad  in 
the  only  right  way — indeed,  he  knew  no  other;  he  had  not 
wasted  his  time  in  the  acquirement  of  anything  abnormal. 

He  very  soon  set  dovvn  poor  Tom  as  a  thoroughly  stupid  lad; 
for  though  by  hard  labor  he  could  get  particular  declensions 
into  his  brain,  anything  so  abstract  as  the  relation  between 
cases  and  terminations  could  by  no  means  get  such  a  lodgment 
there  as  to  enable  him  to  recognize  a  chance  genitive  or  dative. 
This  struck  Mr.  Stelling  as  something  more  than  natural  stu- 
pidity ;  he  suspected  obstinacy,  or  at  any  rate,  indifference,  and 
lectured  Tom  severely  on  his  want  of  thorough  application. 
"  You  feel  no  interest  in  what  you're  doing,  sir,"  Mr.  Stelling 
would  say,  and  the  reproach  was  painfully  true.  Tom  had 
never  found  any  difficulty  in  discerning  a  pointer  from  a  setter, 
when  once  he  had  been  told  the  distinction,  and  his  perceptive 
powers  were  not  at  all  deficient. 

I  fancy  they  were  quite  as  strong  as  those  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Stelling ;  for  Tom  could  predict  with  accuracy  what  number  of 
horses  were  cantering  behind  him  ;  he  could  throw  a  stone  right 
into  the  center  of  a  given  ripple ;  he  could  guess  to  a  fraction 
how  many  lengths  of  his  stick  it  would  take  to  reach  across  the 


480  GEORGE  ELIOT 

playground,  and  could  draw  almost  perfect  squares  on  his  slate 
without  any  measurement.  But  Mr.  Stelling  took  no  note  of 
these  things ;  he  only  observed  that  Tom's  faculties  failed  him 
before  the  abstractions  hideously  symbolized  to  him  in  the  pages 
of  the  Eton  Grammar,  and  that  he  was  in  a  state  bordering  on 
idiocy  with  regard  to  the  demonstration  that  two  given  triangles 
must  be  equal — though  he  could  discern  with  great  prompti- 
tude and  certainty  the  fact  that  they  were  equal.  Whence  Stell- 
ing concluded  that  Tom's  brain,  being  peculiarly  impervious  to 
etymology  and  demonstrations,  was  peculiarly  in  need  of  being 
ploughed  and  harrowed  by  these  patent  implements.  It  was  his 
favorite  metaphor,  that  the  classics  and  geometry  constituted 
that  culture  of  the  mind  which  prepared  it  for  the  reception  of 
any  subsequent  crop. 

I  say  nothing  against  Mr.  Stelling's  theory :  if  we  are  to  have 
one  regimen  for  all  minds,  his  seems  to  be  as  good  as  any  other. 
I  only  know  it  turned  out  as  uncomfortably  for  Tom  Tulliver 
as  if  he  had  been  plied  with  cheese  in  order  to  remedy  a  gastric 
weakness  which  prevented  him  from  digesting  it.  It  is  astonish- 
ing what  a  different  result  one  gets  by  changing  the  metaphor ! 
Once  call  the  brain  an  intellectual  stomach,  and  one's  ingenious 
conception  of  the  classics  and  geometry  as  plows  and  harrows 
seems  to  settle  nothing.  But  then  it  is  open  to  some  one  else  to 
follow  great  authorities,  and  call  the  mind  a  sheet  of  white 
paper  or  a  mirror,  in  which  case  one's  knowledge  of  the  diges- 
tive process  becomes  quite  irrelevant.  It  was  doubtless  an  inge- 
nious idea  to  call  the  camel  the  ship  of  the  desert,  but  it  would 
hardly  lead  one  far  in  training  that  useful  beast.  0  Aristotle ! 
if  you  had  had  the  advantage  of  being  "  the  freshest  modern  " 
instead  of  the  greatest  ancient,  would  you  not  have  mingled 
your  praise  of  metaphorical  speech,  as  a  sign  of  high  intelli- 
gence, with  a  lamentation  that  intelligence  so  rarely  shows  itself 
in  speech  without  metaphor — that  we  can  so  seldom  declare 
what  a  thing  is,  except  by  saying  it  is  something  else. 

Tom  Tulliver,  being  abundant  in  no  form  of  speech,  did  not 
use  any  metaphor  to  declare  his  views  as  to  the  nature  of  Latin : 


TOM'S   "FIRST  HALF"  481 

he  never  called  it  an  instrument  of  torture ;  and  it  was  not  until 
he  had  got  on  some  way  in  the  next  half  year,  and  in  the 
Delectus,  that  he  was  advanced  enough  to  call  it  a  "  bore  "  and 
"  beastly  stuff."  At  present,  in  relation  to  this  demand  that  he 
should  learn  Latin  declensions  and  conjugations,  Tom  was  in  a 
state  of  as  blank  unimaginativeness  concerning  the  cause  and 
tendency  of  his  sufferings  as  if  he  had  been  an  innocent  shrew- 
mouse  imprisoned  in  the  split  trunk  of  an  ash  tree,  in  order  to 
cure  lameness  in  cattle. 

It  is  doubtless  almost  incredible  to  instructed  minds  of  the 
present  day  that  a  boy  of  twelve,  not  belonging  strictly  to  "  the 
masses,"  who  are  now  understood  to  have  the  monopoly  of 
mental  darkness,  should  have  had  no  distinct  idea  how  there 
came  to  be  such  a  thing  as  Latin  on  this  earth ;  yet  so  it  was 
with  Tom.  It  would  have  taken  a  long  while  to  make  conceiv- 
able to  him  that  there  ever  existed  a  people  who  bought  and 
sold  sheep  and  oxen,  and  transacted  the  every-day  affairs  of  life, 
through  the  medium  of  this  language,  and  still  longer  to  make 
him  understand  why  he  should  be  called  upon  to  learn  it,  when 
its  connection  with  those  affairs  had  become  entirely  latent.  So 
far  as  Tom  had  gained  any  acquaintance  with  the  Romans  at 
Mr.  Jacob's  academy,  his  knowledge  was  strictly  correct,  but  it 
went  no  farther  than  the  fact  that  they  were  "  in  the  New 
Testament ; "  and  Mr.  Stelling  was  not  the  man  to  enfeeble  and 
emasculate  his  pupil's  mind  by  simplifying  and  explaining,  or 
to  reduce  the  tonic  effect  of  etymology  by  mixing  it  with  smat- 
tering, extraneous  information,  such  as  is  given  to  girls. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  under  this  vigorous  treatment  Tom  be- 
came more  like  a  girl  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  before. 
He  had  a  large  share  of  pride,  which  had  hitherto  found  itself 
very  comfortable  in  the  world,  despising  Old  Goggles,  and  repos- 
ing in  the  sense  of  unquestioned  rights;  but  now  this  same 
pride  met  with  nothing  but  bruises  and  crushings.  Tom  was 
too  clear-sighted  not  to  be  aware  that  Mr.  Stelling's  standard  of 
things  was  quite  different,  was  certainly  something  higher  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  than  that  of  the  people  he  had  been  living 


482  GEORGE  ELIOT 

amongst,  and  that,  brought  in  contact  with  it,  he,  Tom  Tulliver, 
appeared  uncouth  and  stupid ;  he  was  by  no  means  indifferent 
to  this,  and  his  pride  got  into  an  uneasy  condition  which  quite 
nullified  his  boyish  self-satisfaction,  and  gave  him  something 
of  the  girl's  susceptibility.  He  was  of  a  very  firm,  not  to  say 
obstinate  disposition,  but  there  was  no  brute-like  rebellion  and 
recklessness  in  his  nature ;  the  human  sensibilities  predomi- 
nated, and  if  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  enable  him- 
self to  show  some  quickness  at  his  lessons,  and  so  acquire  Mr. 
Stelling's  approbation,  loy  standing  on  one  leg  for  an  inconveni- 
ent length  of  time,  or  rapping  his  head  moderately  against 
the  wall,  or  any  voluntary  action  of  that  sort,  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  tried  it.  But  no — Tom  had  never  heard  that  these 
measures  would  brighten  the  understanding  or  strengthen  the 
verbal  memory ;  and  he  was  not  given  to  hypothesis  and  ex- 
periment. 

It  did  occur  to  him  that  he  could  perhaps  get  some  help  by 
praying  for  it ;  but  as  the  prayers  he  said  every  evening  were 
forms  learned  by  heart,  he  rather  shrank  from  the  novelty  and 
irregularity  of  introducing  an  extempore  passage  on  a  topic  of 
petition  for  which  he  was  not  aware  of  any  precedent.  But  one 
day,  when  he  had  broken  down,  for  the  fifth  time,  in  the  supines 
of  the  third  conjugation,  and  Mr.  Stelling,  convinced  that  this 
must  be  carelessness,  since  it  transcended  the  bounds  of  possible 
stupidity,  had  lectured  him  very  seriously,  pointing  out  that  if 
he  failed  to  seize  the  present  golden  opportunity  of  learning 
supines,  he  would  have  to  regret  it  when  he  became  a  man — 
Tom,  more  miserable  than  usual,  determined  to  try  his  sole 
resource ;  and  that  evening,  after  his  usual  form  of  prayer  for 
his  parents  and  "  little  sister  "  (he  had  begun  to  pray  for  Mag- 
gie when  she  was  a  baby),  and  that  he  might  be  able  always  to 
keep  God's  commandments,  he  added,  in  the  same  low  whisper, 
"  and  please  to  make  me  always  remember  my  Latin."  He 
paused  a  little  to  consider  how  he  should  pray  about  Euclid — 
whether  he  should  ask  to  see  what  it  meant,  or  whether  there 
was  any  other  mental  state  which  would  be  more  applicable  to 


TOM'S   ''FIRST  HALF"  483 

the  case.  But  at  last  he  added — "  And  make  Mr.  Stelling  say 
I  shan't  do  Euclid  any  more.  Amen." 

The  fact  that  he  got  through  his  supines  without  mistake 
next  day  encouraged  him  to  persevere  in  this  appendix  to  his 
prayers,  and  neutralized  any  skepticism  that  might  have  arisen 
from  Mr.  Stelling's  continued  demand  for  Euclid.  But  his  faith 
broke  down  under  the  apparent  absence  of  all  help  when  he  got 
into  the  irregular  verbs.  It  seemed  clear  that  Tom's  despair 
under  the  caprices  of  the  present  tense  did  not  constitute  a  nodus 
worthy  of  interference,  and  since  this  was  the  climax  of  his 
difficulties,  where  was  the  use  of  praying  for  help  any  longer  ? 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  this  conclusion  in  one  of  his  dull, 
lonely  evenings,  which  he  spent  in  the  study,  preparing  his 
lessons  for  the  morrow.  His  eyes  were  apt  to  get  dim  over  the 
page — though  he  hated  crying,  and  was  ashamed  of  it.  He 
couldn't  help  thinking  with  some  affection  even  of  Spouncer, 
whom  he  used  to  fight  and  quarrel  with ;  he  would  have  felt  at 
home  with  Spouncer,  and  in  a  condition  of  superiority.  And 
then  the  mill,  and  the  river,  and  Yap  pricking  up  his  ears,  ready 
to  obey  the  least  sign  when  Tom  said,  "  Hoigh ! "  would  all 
come  before  him  in  a  sort  of  calenture,  when  his  fingers  played 
absently  in  his  pocket  with  his  great  knife  and  his  coil  of  whip- 
cord, and  other  relics  of  the  past. 

Tom,  as  I  said,  had  never  been  so  much  like  a  girl  in  his 
life  before,  and  at  that  epoch  of  irregular  verbs  his  spirit  was 
further  depressed  by  a  new  means  of  mental  development  which 
had  been  thought  of  for  him  out  of  school  hours.  Mrs.  Stelling 
had  lately  had  her  second  baby,  and  as  nothing  could  be  more 
salutary  for  a  boy  than  to  feel  himself  useful,  Mrs.  Stelling  con- 
sidered she  was  doing  Tom  a  service  by  setting  him  to  watch 
the  little  cherub  Laura  while  the  nurse  was  occupied  with  the 
sickly  baby,  It  was  quite  a  pretty  employment  for  Tom  to 
take  little  Laura  out  in  the  sunniest  hour  of  the  autumn  day — 
it  would  help  to  make  him  feel  that  Lorton  Parsonage  was  a 
home  for  him,  and  that  he  was  one  of  the  family.  The  little 
cherub  Laura,  not  being  an  accomplished  walker  at  present, 


484  GEORGE  ELIOT 

had  a  ribbon  fastened  round  her  waist,  by  which  Tom  held  her 
as  if  she  had  been  a  little  dog  during  the  minutes  in  which  she 
chose  to  walk ;  but  as  these  were  rare,  he  was  for  the  most  part 
carrying  this  fine  child  round  and  round  the  garden,  within 
sight  of  Mrs.  Stelling's  window — according  to  orders. 

If  any  one  considers  this  unfair  and  even  oppressive  toward 
Tom,  I  beg  him  to  consider  that  there  are  feminine  virtues 
which  are  with  difficulty  combined,  even  if  they  are  not  incom- 
patible. When  the  wife  of  a  poor  curate  contrives,  under  all  her 
disadvantages,  to  dress  extremely  well  and  to  have  a  style  of 
coiffure  which  requires  that  her  nurse  shall  occasionally  officiate 
as  lady's-maid — when,  moreover,  her  dinner-parties  and  her 
drawing-room  show  that  effort  of  elegance  and  completeness  of 
appointment  to  which  ordinary  women  might  imagine  a  large 
income  necessary,  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  of  her  that 
she  should  employ  a  second  nurse,  or  even  act  as  a  nurse  herself. 
Mr.  Stelling  knew  better;  he  saw  that  his  wife  did  wonders 
already,  and  was  proud  of  her ;  it  was  certainly  not  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  young  Tulliver's  gait  to  carry  a  heavy 
child,  but  he  had  plenty  of  exercise  in  long  walks  with  himself, 
and  next  half-year  Mr.  Stelling  would  see  about  having  a  drill- 
ing-master. Among  the  many  means  whereby  Mr.  Stelling 
intended  to  be  more  fortunate  than  the  bulk  of  his  fellow-men, 
he  had  entirely  given  up  that  of  having  his  own  way  in  his  own 
house.  What  then  ? — he  had  married  "  as  kind  a  little  soul  as 
ever  breathed,"  according  to  Mr.  Riley,  who  had  been  acquainted 
with  Mrs.  Stelling's  blonde  ringlets  and  smiling  demeanor 
throughout  her  maiden  life,  and  on  the  strength  of  that  knowl- 
edge would  have  been  ready  any  day  to  pronounce  that  what- 
ever domestic  differences  might  arise  in  her  married  life  must 
be  entirely  Mr.  Stelling's  fault. 

If  Tom  had  had  a  worse  disposition,  he  would  certainly  have 
hated  the  little  cherub,  Laura ;  but  he  was  too  kind-hearted  a 
lad  for  that — there  was  too  much  in  him  of  the  fiber  that  turns 
to  true  manliness,  and  to  protecting  pity  for  the  weak.  I  am 
afraid  he  hated  Mrs.  Stelling,  and  contracted  a  lasting  dislike 


TOUTS  "FIRST  HALF"  485 

to  pale  blonde  ringlets  and  broad  plaits,  as  directly  associated 
with  haughtiness  of  manner,  and  a  frequent  reference  to  other 
people's  "  duty."  But  he  couldn't  help  playing  with  little 
Laura,  and  liking  to  amuse  her ;  he  even  sacrificed  his  percus- 
sion caps  for  her  sake,  in  despair  of  their  ever  serving  a  greater 
purpose — thinking  the  small  flash  and  bang  would  delight  her, 
and  thereby  drawing  down  on  himself  a  rebuke  from  Mrs.  Stell- 
ing  for  teaching  her  child  to  play  with  fire.  Laura  was  a  sort 
of  playfellow — and  oh,  how  Tom  longed  for  playfellows  !  In  his 
secret  heart  he  yearned  to  have  Maggie  with  him,  and  was 
almost  ready  to  dote  on  her  exasperating  acts  of  forgetfulness  ; 
though,  when  he  was  at  home,  he  always  represented  it  as  a 
great  favor  on  his  part  to  let  Maggie  trot  by  his  side  on  his 
pleasure  excursions. 

And  before  this  dreary  half-year  was  ended,  Maggie  actually 
came.  Mrs.  Stelling  had  given  a  general  invitation  for  the  little 
girl  to  come  and  stay  with  her  brother ;  so  when  Mr.  Tulliver 
drove  over  to  King's  Lorton  late  in  October,  Maggie  came,  too, 
with  the  sense  that  she  was  taking  a  great  journey,  and  begin- 
ning to  see  the  world.  It  was  Mr.  Tulliver's  first  visit  to  see 
Tom,  for  the  lad  must  learn  not  to  think  too  much  about  home. 

"  Well,  my  lad,"  he  said  to  Tom,  when  Mr.  Stelling  left  the 
room  to  announce  the  arrival  to  his  wife,  and  Maggie  had 
begun  to  kiss  Tom  freely,  "  you  look  rarely  !  School  agrees 
with  you." 

Tom  wished  he  had  looked  rather  ill. 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  well,  father,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  wish  you'd 
ask  Mr.  Stelling  not  to  let  me  do  Euclid — it  brings  on  the 
toothache,  I  think." 

(The  toothache  was  the  only  malady  to  which  Tom  had  ever 
been  subject.) 

"  Euclid,  my  lad — why,  what's  that  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tulliver. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  it's  definitions,  and  axioms  and,  tri- 
angles, and  things.  It's  a  book  I've  got  to  learn  in — there's  no 
sense  in  it." 

"  Go,  go !  "  said  Mr.  Tulliver,  reprovingly,  "  you  mustn't  say 


486  GEORGE  ELIOT 

so.  You  must  learn  what  your  master  tells  you.  He  knows 
what  is  right  for  you  to  learn." 

"  I'll  help  you  now,  Tom,"  said  Maggie,  with  a  little  air  of 
patronizing  consolation.  "  I've  come  to  stay  ever  so  long,  if 
Mrs.  Stelling  asks  me.  I've  brought  my  box  and  my  pinafores, 
haven't  I,  father?" 

"  You  help  me,  you  little  silly  thing!"  said  Tom,  in  such 
high  spirits  at  this  announcement  that  he  quite  enjoyed  the 
idea  of  confounding  Maggie  by  showing  her  a  page  of  Euclid. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  you  doing  one  of  my  lessons !  Why,  I 
learn  Latin,  too !  Girls  never  learn  such  things.  They're  too 
silly." 

"  I  know  what  Latin  is  very  well,"  said  Maggie,  confidently. 
"  Latin's  a  language.  There  are  Latin  words  in  the  dictionary. 
There's  bonus,  a  gift." 

"  Now,  you're  just  wrong  there,  Miss  Maggie ! "  said  Tom, 
secretly  astonished.  "  You  think  you're  very  wise !  But 
'  bonus '  means  '  good,'  as  it  happens — bonus,  bona,  bonum." 

11  Well,  that's  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  mean  '  gift,'  "  said 
Maggie,  stoutly.  "  It  may  mean  several  things — almost  every 
word  does.  There's  '  lawn,' — it  means  the  grass-plot,  as  well  as 
the  stuff  pocket-handkerchiefs  are  made  of." 

"  Well  done,  little  'un,"  said  Mr.  Tulliver,  laughing,  while 
Tom  felt  rather  disgusted  with  Maggie's  knowingness,  though 
beyond  measure  cheerful  at  the  thought  that  she  was  going  to 
stay  with  him.  Her  conceit  would  soon  be  overawed  by  th^ 
actual  inspection  of  his  books. 

Mrs.  Stelling,  in  her  pressing  invitation,  did  not  mention  a 
longer  time  than  a  week  for  Maggie's  stay;  but  Mr.  Stelling, 
who  took  her  between  his  knees,  and  asked  her  where  she  stole 
her  dark  eyes  from,  insisted  that  she  must  stay  a  fortnight. 
Maggie  thought  Mr.  Stelling  was  a  charming  man,  and  Mr. 
Tulliver  was  quite  proud  to  leave  his  little  wench  where  she 
would  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  her  cleverness  to  appre- 
ciating strangers.  So  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  not  be 
fetched  home  till  the  end  of  the  fortnight. 


TOM1 8  "FIRST  HALF"  487 

"  Now,  then,  come  with  me  into  the  study,  Maggie,"  said 
Tom,  as  their  father  drove  away.  "  What  do  you  shake  and 
toss  your  head  now  for,  you  silly  ?  "  he  continued ;  for  though 
her  hair  was  now  under  a  new  dispensation,  and  was  brushed 
smoothly  behind  her  ears,  she  seemed  still  in  imagination  to  be 
tossing  it  out  of  her  eyes.  "  It  makes  you  look  as  if  you  were 
crazy." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  help  that,"  said  Maggie,  impatiently.  "  Don't 
tease  me,  Tom.  Oh,  what  books !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  saw 
the  book-cases  in  the  study,  "  How  I  should  like  to  have  as 
many  books  as  that !  " 

"  Why,  you  couldn't  read  one  of  'em,"  said  Tom,  triumphantly. 
"  They're  all  Latin." 

"  No,  they  aren't, "  said  Maggie.  "  I  can  read  the  back  of  this 
— '  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.' " 

"  Well,  what  does  that  mean  ?  You  don't  know,"  said  Tom, 
wagging  his  head. 

"  But  I  could  soon  find  out,"  said  Maggie,  scornfully. 

"Why,  how?" 

"  I  should  look  inside,  and  see  what  it  was  about." 

"  You'd  better  not,  Miss  Maggie,"  said  Tom,  seeing  her  hand 
on  the  volume.  "  Mr.  Stelling  lets  nobody  touch  his  books 
without  leave,  and  I  shall  catch  it,  if  you  take  it  out." 

"  Oh,  very  well !  Let  me  see  all  your  books,  then,"  said 
Maggie,  turning  to  throw  her  arms  round  Tom's  neck,  and  rub 
his  cheek  with  her  small  round  nose. 

Tom,  in  the  gladness  of  his  heart  at  having  dear  old  Maggie 
to  dispute  with  and  crow  over  again,  seized  her  round  the  waist, 
and  began  to  jump  with  her  round  the  large  library  table. 
Away  they  jumped  with  more  and  more  vigor,  till  Maggie's 
hair  flew  from  behind  her  ears,  and  twirled  about  like  an 
animated  mop.  But  the  revolutions  round  the  table  became 
more  and  more  irregular  in  their  sweep,  till  at  last  reaching 
Mr.  Stelling's  reading-stand,  they  sent  it  thundering  down  with 
its  heavy  lexicons  to  the  floor.  Happily  it  was  the  ground- 
floor,  and  the  study  was  a  one-storied  wing  to  the  house,  so 


488  GEORGE  ELIOT 

that  the  downfall  made  no  alarming  resonance,  though  Tom 
stood  dizzy  and  aghast  for  a  few  minutes,  dreading  the  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Stelling. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Maggie,"  said  Tom  at  last,  lifting  up  the  stand, 
"  we  must  keep  quiet  here,  you  know.  If  we  break  anything, 
Mrs.  Stelling  '11  make  us  cry  peccavi." 

"What's  that?"  said  Maggie. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  Latin  for  a  good  scolding,"  said  Tom,  not  with- 
out some  pride  in  his  knowledge. 

"  Is  she  a  cross  woman  ?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  I  believe  you !  "  said  Tom,  with  an  emphatic  nod. 

"I  think  all  women  are  crosser  than  men,"  said  Maggie. 
"Aunt  Glegg's  a  great  deal  crosser  than  Uncle  Glegg,  and 
mother  scolds  me  more  than  father  does." 

"Well,  you'll  be  a  woman  some  day,"  said  Tom,  "so  you 
needn't  talk." 

"  But  I  shall  be  a  clever  woman,"  said  Maggie,  with  a  toss. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,  and  a  nasty  conceited  thing.  Everybody  'Jl 
hate  you." 

"  But  you  oughtn't  to  hate  me,  Tom ;  it  '11  be  very  wicked  of 
you,  for  I  shall  be  your  sister." 

"  Yes,  but  if  you're  a  disagreeable  thing,  I  sludl  hate  you." 

"  Oh,  but,  Tom,  you  won't !  I  shan't  be  disagreeable.  I  shall 
be  very  good  to  you — and  I  shall  be  good  to  everybody.  You 
won't  hate  me  really,  will  you,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother !  never  mind !  Come,  it's  time  for  me  to  learn 
my  lessons.  See  here !  what  I've  got  to  do,"  said  Tom,  drawing 
Maggie  toward  him  and  showing  her  his  theorem,  while  she 
pushed  her  hair  behind  her  ears,  and  prepared  herself  to  prove 
her  capability  of  helping  him  in  Euclid.  She  began  to  read 
with  full  confidence  in  her  own  powers,  but  presently,  becom- 
ing quite  bewildered,  her  face  flushed  with  irritation.  It  was 
unavoidable — she  must  confess  her  incompetency,  and  she  was 
not  fond  of  humiliation. 

"  It's  nonsense !  "  she  said,  "  and  very  ugly  stuff — nobody  need 
want  to  make  it  out."  • 


TOM1 8   "FIRST  HALF" 

"  Ah,  there  now,  Miss  Maggie !  "  said  Tom,  drawing  the  book 
away,  and  wagging  his  head  at  her,  "you  see  you're  not  so 
clever  as  you  thought  you  were." 

"  Oh,"  said  Maggie,  pouting,  "  I  dare  say  I  could  make  it 
out,  if  I'd  learned  what  goes  before,  as  you  have." 

"  But  that's  what  you  just  couldn't,  Miss  Wisdom,"  said  Tom. 
"  For  it's  all  the  harder  when  you  know  what  goes  before ;  for 
then  you've  got  to  say  what  definition  3  is,  and  what  axiom  V. 
is.  But  get  along  with  you  now.  I  must  go  on  with  this. 
Here's  the  Latin  Grammar.  See  what  you  can  make  of  that. 

Maggie  found  the  Latin  Grammar  quite  soothing  after  her 
mathematical  mortification;  for  she  delighted  in  new  words, 
and  quickly  found  that  there  was  an  English  Key  at  the  end, 
which  would  make  her  very  wise  about  Latin,  at  slight  expense. 
She  presently  made  up  her  mind  to  skip  the  rules  in  the  Syntax 
— the  examples  became  so  absorbing.  These  mysterious  sen- 
tences, snatched  from  an  unknown  context, — like  strange  horns 
of  beasts,  and  leaves  of  unknown  plants,  brought  from  some 
far-off  region, — gave  boundless  scope  to  her  imagination,  and 
were  all  the  more  fascinating  because  they  were  in  a  peculiar 
tongue  of  their  own,  which  she  could  learn  to  interpret.  It  was 
really  very  interesting — the  Latin  Grammar  that  Tom  had  said 
no  girls  could  learn ;  and  she  was  proud  because  she  found  it 
interesting.  The  most  fragmentary  examples  were  her  favorites. 
Mors  omnibus  est  com/munis  would  have  been  jejune,  only  she 
liked  to  know  the  Latin ;  but  the  fortunate  gentleman  whom 
every  one  congratulated  because  he  had  a  son  "  endowed  with 
such  a  disposition"  afforded  her  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  con- 
jecture, and  she  was  quite  lost  in  the  "  thick  grove  penetrable 
by  no  star,"  when  Tom  called  out : 

"  Now,  then,  Magsie,  give  us  the  grammar!  " 

"  Oh,  Tom,  it's  such  a  pretty  book ! "  she  said,  as  she  jumped 
out  of  the  large  arm-chair  to  give  it  him;  "it's  much  prettier 
than  the  dictionary.  I  could  learn  Latin  very  soon.  I  don't 
think  it's  at  all  hard." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you've  been  doing,"  said  Tom,  "  you've 


490  GEORGE  ELIOT 

been  reading  the  English  at  the  end.  Any  donkey  can  do 
that." 

Tom  seized  the  book  and  opened  it  with  a  determined  and 
business-like  air,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  had  a  lesson  to  learn 
which  no  donkeys  would  find  themselves  equal  to.  Maggie, 
rather  piqued,  turned  to  the  book-cases,  to  amuse  herself  with 
puzzling  out  the  titles. 

Presently  Tom  called  to  her :  "  Here,  Magsie,  come  and  hear 
if  I  can  say  this.  Stand  at  that  end  of  the  table,  where  Mr. 
Stelling  sits  when  he  hears  me." 

Maggie  obeyed,  and  took  the  open  book. 

"  Where  do  you  begin,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  begin  at  'Appellativa  arborum,'  because  I  say  all  over 
again  what  I've  been  learning  this  week." 

Tom  sailed  along  pretty  well  for  three  lines ;  and  Maggie  was 
beginning  to  forget  her  office  of  prompter  in  speculating  as  to 
what  mas  could  mean,  which  came  twice  over,  when  he  stuck 
fast  at  Sunt  etiam  volucrum. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Maggie ;  Sunt  etiam  volucrum — Sunt  etiam 
volucrum — ut  ostrea,  cetus " 

"No,"  said  Maggie,  opening  her  mouth  and  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Sunt  etiam,  volucrum"  said  Tom,  very  slowly,  as  if  the  next 
words  might  be  expected  to  come  sooner  when  he  gave  them 
this  strong  hint  that  they  were  waited  for. 

"  C,  e,  u,"  said  Maggie,  getting  impatient. 

"  Oh,  I  know — hold  your  tongue,"  said  Tom.  "  Ceu  passer, 
hirundo ;  Ferarum — -ferarum — "  Tom  took  his  pencil  and 
made  several  hard  dots  with  it  on  his  book-cover — "fera- 
rum " 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  Tom,"  said  Maggie,  "  what  a  time  you 
are!  Ut " 


"  Ut  ostrea- 


"  No,  no,"  said  Maggie,  "  ut  tigris " 

"  Oh,  yes,  now  I  can  do,"  said  Tom  ;  "  it  was  tigris,  vulpes,  I'd 
forgotten  :  ut  tigris,  vulpes ;  et  Piscium." 


TOM'S   "FIRST  HALF"  491 

With  some  further  stammering  and  repetition,  Tom  got 
through  the  next  few  lines. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  "  the  next  is  what  I've  just  learned  for 
to-morrow.  Give  me  hold  of  the  book  a  minute." 

After  some  whispered  gabbling,  assisted  by  the  beating  of  his 
fist  on  the  table,  Tom  returned  the  book. 

"  Mascula  nomina  in  a,"  he  began. 

"  No,  Tom,"  said  Maggie,  "  that  doesn't  come  next.  It's 
Nomen  non  creskens  genittivo " 

"  Creskens  genittivo  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  with  a  derisive  laugh, 
for  Tom  had  learned  this  omitted  passage  for  his  yesterday's 
lesson,  and  a  young  gentleman  does  not  require  an  intimate  or 
extensive  acquaintance  with  Latin  before  he  can  feel  the  piti- 
able absurdity  of  a  false  quantity.  "  Oreskens  genittivo!  What 
a  little  silly  you  are,  Maggie ! " 

"  Well,  you  needn't  laugh,  Tom,  for  you  didn't  remember  it 
at  all.  I'm  sure  it's  spelled  so ;  how  was  I  to  know?  " 

"  Phee-e-e-h !  I  told  you  girls  couldn't  learn  Latin.  It's 
Nomen  non  crcscens  genitivo " 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Maggie,  pouting.  "  I  can  say  that  as 
well  as  you  can.  And  you  don't  mind  your  stops.  For  you 
ought  to  stop  twice  as  long  at  a  semicolon  as  you  do  at  a  comma, 
and  you  make  the  longest  stops  where  there  ought  to  be  no 
stop  at  all." 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  chatter.     Let  me  go  on." 

They  were  presently  fetched  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  evening 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  Maggie  became  so  animated  with 
Mr.  Stelling,  who,  she  felt  sure,  admired  her  cleverness,  that 
Tom  was  rather  amazed  and  alarmed  at  her  audacity.  But  she 
was  suddenly  subdued  by  Mr.  Stelling's  alluding  to  a  little  girl 
of  whom  he  had  heard  that  she  once  ran  away  to  the  gypsies. 

"  What  a  very  odd  little  girl  that  must  be ! "  said  Mrs.  Stelling, 
meaning  to  be  playful — but  a  playfulness  that  turned  on  her 
supposed  oddity  was  not  at  all  to  Maggie's  taste.  She  feared 
that  Mr.  Stelling,  after  all,  did  not  think  much  of  her,  and  went 
to  bed  in  rather  low  spirits.  Mrs.  Stelling,  she  felt,  looked  at 


492  GEORGE  ELIOT 

her  as  if  she  thought  her  hair  was  very  ugly  because  it  hung 
down  straight  behind. 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  very  happy  fortnight  to  Maggie,  this 
visit  to  Tom.  She  was  allowed  to  be  in  the  study  while  he  had 
his  lessons,  and  in  her  various  readings  got  very  deep  into  the 
examples  in  the  Latin  Grammar.  The  astronomer  who  hated 
women  generally,  caused  her  so  much  puzzling  speculation  that 
she  one  day  asked  Mr.  Stelling  if  all  astronomers  hated  women, 
or  whether  it  was  only  this  particular  astronomer.  But  fore- 
stalling his  answer,  she  said  : 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  astronomers ;  because,  you  know,  they  live 
up  in  high  towers,  and  if  the  women  came  there,  they  might 
talk  and  hinder  them  from  looking  at  the  stars." 

Mr.  Stelling  liked  her  prattle  immensely,  and  they  were  on 
the  best  terms.  She  told  Tom  she  should  like  to  go  to  school  to 
Mr.  Stelling,  as  he  did,  and  learn  just  the  same  things.  She 
knew  she  could  do  Euclid,  for  she  had  looked  into  it  again,  and 
she  saw  what  ABC  meant :  they  were  the  names  of  the  lines. 

"  I'm  sure  you  couldn't  do  it  now,"  said  Tom ;  "  and  I'll  just 
ask  Mr.  Stelling  if  you  could." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  the  little  conceited  minx.  "  I'll  ask  him 
myself." 

"Mr.  Stelling,"  she  said,  that  same  evening  when  they  were 
in  the  drawing-room,  "  couldn't  I  do  Euclid,  and  all  Tom's  les- 
sons, if  you  were  to  teach  me  instead  of  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  you  couldn't,"  said  Tom,  indignantly.  "  Girls  can't  do 
Euclid ;  can  they,  sir  ?  " 

"  They  can  pick  up  a  little  of  everything,  I  dare  say,"  said 
Mr.  Stelling.  "  They've  a  great  deal  of  superficial  cleverness ; 
but  can't  go  far  into  anything.  They're  quick  and  shallow." 

Tom,  delighted  with  this  verdict,  telegraphed  his  triumph  by 
wagging  his  head  at  Maggie,  behind  Mr.  Stelling's  chair.  As 
for  Maggie,  she  had  hardly  ever  been  so  mortified.  She  had 
been  so  proud  to  be  called  "  quick  "  all  her  little  life,  and  now 
it  appeared  that  this  quickness  was  the  brand  of  inferiority.  It 
would  have  been  better  to  be  slow,  like  Tom. 


TOM'S  •«  FIRST  HALF"  493 

"  Ha,  ha !  Miss  Maggie ! "  said  Tom,  when  they  were  alone ; 
"  you  see  it's  not  such  a  fine  thing  to  be  quick.  You'll  never 
go  far  into  anything,  you  know." 

And  Maggie  was  so  oppressed  by  this  dreadful  destiny  that 
she  had  no  spirit  for  a  retort. 

But  when  this  small  apparatus  of  shallow  quickness  was 
fetched  away  in  the  gig  by  Luke,  and  the  study  was  once  more 
quite  lonely  for  Tom,  he  missed  her  grievously.  He  had  really 
been  brighter,  and  had  got  through  his  lessons  better,  since  she 
had  been  there ;  and  she  had  asked  Mr.  Stelling  so  many  ques- 
tions about  the  Roman  Empire,  and  whether  there  really  ever 
was  a  man  who  said  in  Latin,  "  I  would  not  buy  it  for  a  farthing 
or  a  rotten  nut,"  or  whether  that  had  only  been  turned  into 
Latin,  that  Tom  had  actually  come  to  a  dim  understanding  of 
the  fact  that  there  had  once  been  people  upon  the  earth  who 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  know  Latin  without  learning  it  through 
the  medium  of  the  Eton  Grammar.  This  luminous  idea  was 
a  great  addition  to  his  historical  acquirements  during  this  half- 
year,  which  were  otherwise  confined  to  an  epitomized  history 
of  the  Jews. 

But  the  dreary  half-year  did  come  to  an  end.  How  glad 
Tom  was  to  see  the  last  yellow  leaves  fluttering  before  the  cold 
wind  !  The  dark  afternoons,  and  the  first  December  snow, 
seemed  to  him  far  livelier  than  the  August  sunshine ;  and  that 
he  might  make  himself  the  surer  about  the  flight  of  days  that 
were  carrying  him  homeward,  he  stuck"  twenty-one  sticks  deep 
in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  when  he  was  three  weeks  from  the 
holidays,  and  pulled  one  up  every  day  with  a  great  wrench, 
throwing  it  to  a  distance  with  a  vigor  of  will  which  would  have 
carried  it  to  limbo,  if  it  had  been  in  the  nature  of  sticks  to  travel 
so  far. 

But  it  was  worth  purchasing,  even  at  the  heavy  price  of  the 
Latin  Grammar — the  happiness  of  seeing  the  bright  light  in  the 
parlor  at  home,  as  the  gig  passed  noiselessly  over  the  snow- 
covered  bridge ;  the  happiness  of  passing  from  the  cold  air  to 
the  warmth  and  the  kisses  and  the  smiles  of  that  familiar 


494:  GEORGE  ELIOT 

hearth,  where  the  pattern  of  the  rug  and  the  grate  and 
fire-irons  were  "  first-ideas "  that  it  was  no  more  possible  to 
criticise  than  the  solidity  and  extension  of  matter.  There  is 
no  sense  of  ease  like  the  ease  we  felt  in  those  scenes  where  we 
were  born,  where  objects  became  dear  to  us  before  we  had  known 
the  labor  of  choice,  and  where  the  outer  world  seemed  only  an 
extension  of  our  own  personality :  we  accepted  and  loved  it  as 
we  accepted  our  own  sense  of  existence  and  our  own  limbs. 

Very  common-place,  even  ugly,  that  furniture  of  our  early 
home  might  look  if  it  were  put  up  at  auction ;  an  improved 
taste  in  upholstery  scorns  it;  and  is  not  the  striving  after 
something  better  and  better  in  our  surroundings,  the  grand 
characteristic  that  distinguishes  man  from  the  brute — or,  to 
satisfy  a  scrupulous  accuracy  of  definition,  that  distinguishes 
the  British  man  from  the  foreign  brute?  But  Heaven  knows 
where  that  striving  might  lead  us,  if  our  affections  had  not  a 
trick  of  twining  round  those  old  inferior  things — if  the  loves 
and  sanctities  of  our  life  had  no  deep  immovable  roots  in  mem- 
ory. One's  delight  in  an  elderberry  bush  overhanging  the 
confused  leafage  of  a  hedgerow  bank,  as  a  more  gladdening 
sight  than  the  finest  cistus  or  fuchsia  spreading  itself  on  the 
softest  undulating  turf,  is  an  entirely  unjustifiable  preference 
to  a  nursery-gardener,  or  to  any  of  those  severely  regulated 
minds  who  are  free  from  the  weakness  of  any  attachment  that 
does  not  rest  on  a  demonstrable  superiority  of  qualities.  And 
there  is  no  better  reason  for  preferring  this  elderberry  bush 
than  that  it  stirs  an  early  memory — that  it  is  no  novelty  in 
my  life,  speaking  to  me  merely  through  my  present  sensibili- 
ties to  form  and  color,  but  the  long  companion  of  my  existence, 
that  wove  itself  into  my  joys  when  joys  were  vivid. 


WASHINGTON    IRVING 

1783-1859 

No  name  in  our  literary  annals  is  more  fondly  cherished  than  that 
of  Washington  Irving,  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  distinguished  of 
American  writers.  He  was  born  in  New  York  in  1783,  and  died  at 
Sunnyside,  his  home  on  the  Hudson,  in  1859.  He  began  his  literary 
career  by  contributing  to  the  columns  of  the  Morning  Chronicle,  of 
which  his  brother,  Dr.  Peter  Irving,  was  editor.  His  health  failing, 
he  went  to  Europe,  where  he  remained  two  years.  On  his  return  he 
was  admitted  to  the  Bar,  but  gave  little  attention  to  his  profession.  In 
1807  appeared  the  first  number  of  Salmagundi ;  or,  the  Whim  Whams 
and  Opinions  of  Launcelot  Langstaff  and  Others, — a  semi-monthly 
periodical  of  light  and  agreeable  character,  which  was  very  popular 
during  its  existence  of  less  than  two  years.  In  1809  the  famous  "  His- 
tory of  New  York,  by  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,"  was  published,  and 
had  a  most  cordial  reception.  The  next  year  Washington  Irving 
became  a  partner  in  the  mercantile  business  conducted  by  his  brothers ; 
but  in  1812  the  firm  failed,  and  the  young  author  returned  to  literary 
labors. 

"  The  Sketch-Book "  appeared  in  1819,  and  established  his  fame 
in  England  and  America.  "  Bracebridge  Hall,"  "The  Conquest  of 
Granada,"  "  The  Life  of  Columbus,"  and  other  works,  were  issued  at 
intervals  prior  to  1832.  In  1842  he  was  appointed  United  States  Min- 
ister to  Spain,  and  held  that  office  four  years.  After  his  return  he 
wrote  a  "  Life  of  Goldsmith,"  "The  Life  of  Washington,"  and  "  Ma- 
homet and  his  Successors."  It  is  safe  to  say  that  no  American  author 
has  been  so  generally  and  heartily  loved  as  Washington  Irving,  and 
he  was  as  popular  in  Great  Britain  as  at  home.  His  style  is  a  model 
of  ease,  grace,  and  refinement. 

Characterization 

Other  writers  may  no  doubt  arise  in  the  course  of  time,  who  will 
exhibit  in  verse  or  prose  a  more  commanding  talent,  and  soar  a  still 
loftier  flight  in  the  empyrean  sky  of  glory.  Some  western  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Corneille,  or  Calderon,  may  irradiate  our  literary 

495 


496  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

world  with  a  flood  of  splendor  that  shall  throw  all  other  greatness 
into  the  shade.  This,  or  something  like  it  may  or  may  not  happen  ; 
but  even  if  it  should,  it  can  never  be  disputed  that  the  mild  and  beau- 
tiful genius  of  Mr.  Irving  was  the  Morning  Star  that  led  up  the  march 
of  our  heavenly  host ;  and  that  he  has  a  fair  right,  much  fairer  cer- 
tainly than  the  great  Mantuan,  to  assume  the  proud  device,  "  Primus 
ego  in patriam." 

ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 

Ichabod    Crane 

(Prom  "The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow ") 

In  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  spacious  coves  which  indent 
the  eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  that  broad  expansion  of 
the  river  denominated  by  the  ancient  Dutch  navigators  the 
Tappan  Zee,  and  where  they  always  prudently  shortened  sail, 
and  implored  the  protection  of  Saint  Nicholas  when  they 
crossed,  there  lies  a  small  market-town  or  rural  port,  which  by 
some  is  called  Greensburgh,  but  which  is  more  generally  and 
properly  known  by  the  name  of  Tarry  Town.  This  name  was 
given,  we  are  told,  in  former  days,  by  the  good  housewives  of 
the  adjacent  country,  from  the  inveterate  propensity  of  their 
husbands  to  linger  about  the  village  tavern  on  market-days. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  I  do  not  vouch  for  the  fact,  but  merely 
advert  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  being  precise  and  authentic.  Not 
far  from  this  village,  perhaps  about  two  miles,  there  is  a  little 
valley,  or  rather  lap  of  land,  among  high  hills,  which  is  one  of 
the  quietest  places  in  the  whole  world.  A  small  brook  glides 
through  it,  with  just  murmur  enough  to  lull  one  to  repose ;  and 
the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail,  or  tapping  of  a  woodpecker, 
is  almost  the  only  sound  that  ever  breaks  in  upon  the  uniform 
tranquillity. 

I  recollect  that,  when  a  stripling,  my  first  exploit  in  squirrel 
shooting  was  in  a  grove  of  tall  walnut  trees  that  shades  one 
side  of  the  valley.  I  had  wandered  into  it  at  noon-time,  when 
all  nature  is  peculiarly  quiet,  and  was  startled  by  the  roar  of 
my  own  gun  as  it  broke  the  Sabbath  stillness  around,  and  was 


ICHABOD    CRANE  497 

prolonged  and  reverberated  by  the  angry  echoes.  If  ever  I 
should  wish  for  a  retreat,  whither  I  might  steal  from  the  world 
and  its  distractions,  and  dream  quietly  away  the  remnant  of  a 
troubled  life,  I  know  of  none  more  promising  than  this  little 
valley. 

From  the  listless  repose  of  the  place,  and  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  its  inhabitants,  who  are  descendants  from  the  original 
Dutch  settlers,  this  sequestered  glen  has  long  been  known  by 
the  name  of  SLEEPY  HOLLOW,  and  its  rustic  lads  are  called  the 
Sleepy  Hollow  Boys  throughout  all  the  neighboring  country. 
A  drowsy,  dreamy  influence  seems  to  hang  over  the  land,  and 
to  pervade  the  very  atmosphere.  Some  say  that  the  place  was 
bewitched  by  a  high  German  doctor,  during  the  early  days  of 
the  settlement ;  others,  that  an  old  Indian  chief,  the  prophet  or 
wizard  of  his  tribe,  held  his  powwows  there  before  the  country 
was  discovered  by  Master  Hendrick  Hudson.  Certain  it  is,  the 
place  still  continues  under  the  sway  of  some  witching  power, 
that  holds  a  spell  over  the  minds  of  the  good  people,  causing 
them  to  walk  in  a  continual  revery.  They  are  given  to  all 
kinds  of  marvelous  beliefs;  are  subject  to  trances  and  visions; 
and  frequently  see  strange  sights,  and  hear  music  and  voices  in 
the  air.  The  whole  neighborhood  abounds  with  local  tales, 
haunted  spots,  and  twilight  superstitions ;  stars  shoot  and 
meteors  glare  oftener  across  the  valley  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  country,  and  the  nightmare,  with  her  whole  nine  fold, 
seems  to  make  it  the  favorite  scene  of  her  gambols. 

The  dominant  spirit,  however,  that  haunts  this  enchanted 
region,  and  seems  to  be  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  powers  of 
the  air,  is  the  apparition  of  a  figure  on  horseback  without  a 
head.  It  is  said  by  some  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  Hessian  trooper, 
whose  head  had  been  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  in  some 
nameless  battle  during  the  Revolutionary  War;  and  who  is 
ever  and  anon  seen  by  the  country  folk,  hurrying  along  in  the 
gloom  of  night,  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  His  haunts 
are  not  confined  to  the  valley,  but  extend  at  times  to  the  adja- 
cent roads,  and  especially  to  the  vicinity  of  a  church  at  no  great 
s.  M.— 32 


498  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

distance.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  most  authentic  historians  of 
those  parts,  who  have  been  careful  in  collecting  and  collating 
the  floating  facts  concerning  this  specter,  allege  that,  the  body 
of  the  trooper  having  been  buried  in  the  church-yard,  the  ghost 
rides  forth  to  the  scene  of  battle  in  nightly  quest  of  his  head ; 
and  that  the  rushing  speed  with  which  he  sometimes  passes 
along  the  Hollow,  like  a  midnight  blast,  is  owing  to  his  being 
belated,  and  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  church-yard  before 
daybreak. 

Such  is  the  general  purport  of  this  legendary  superstition, 
which  has  furnished  materials  for  many  a  wild  story  in  that 
region  of  shadows ;  and  the  specter  is  known,  at  all  the  country 
firesides,  by  the  name  of  the  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  visionary  propensity  I  have  men- 
tioned is  not  confined  to  the  native  inhabitants  of  the  valley, 
but  is  unconsciously  imbibed  by  every  one  who  resides  there  for 
a  time.  However  wide-awake  they  may  have  been  before  they 
entered  that  sleepy  region,  they  are  sure,  in  a  little  time,  to 
inhale  the  witching  influence  of  the  air,  and  begin  to  grow 
imaginative, — to  dream  dreams  and  see  apparitions. 

I  mention  this  peaceful  spot  with  all  possible  laud ;  for  it  is 
in  such  little  retired  Dutch  valleys,  found  here  and  there  em- 
bosomed in  the  great  state  of  New  York,  that  population,  man- 
ners, and  customs  remain  fixed;  while  the  great  torrent  of 
migration  and  improvement  which  is  making  such  incessant 
changes  in  other  parts  of  this  restless  country  sweeps  by  them 
unobserved.  They  are  like  those  little  nooks  of  still  water  which 
border  a  rapid  stream ;  where  we  may  see  the  straw  and  bubble 
riding  quietly  at  anchor,  or  slowly  revolving  in  their  mimic 
harbor,  undisturbed  by  the  rush  of  the  passing  current.  Though 
many  years  have  elapsed  since  I  trod  the  drowsy  shades  of 
Sleepy  Hollow,  yet  I  question  whether  I  should  not  still  find 
the  same  trees  and  the  same  families  vegetating  in  its  sheltered 
bosom. 

In  this  by-place  of  Nature  there  abode,  in  a  remote  period  of 


ICHABOD   CRANE  499 

American  history,  that  is  to  say,  some  thirty  years  since,  a 
worthy  wight  of  the  name  of  Ichabod  Crane;  who  sojourned, 
or,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  tarried,"  in  Sleepy  Hollow,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  instructing  the  children  of  the  vicinity.  He  was  a 
native  of  Connecticut — a  state  which  supplies  the  Union  with 
pioneers  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for  the  forest,  and  sends  forth 
yearly  its  legions  of  frontier  woodsmen  and  country  school- 
masters. The  cognomen  of  Crane  was  not  inapplicable  to 
his  person.  He  was  tall,  but  exceedingly  lank,  with  narrow 
shoulders,  long  arms  and  legs,  hands  that  dangled  a  mile  out 
of  his  sleeves,  feet  that  might  have  served  for  shovels,  and  his 
whole  frame  most  loosely  hung  together.  His  head  was  small, 
and  flat  at  top,  with  huge  ears,  large  green  glassy  eyes,  and  a 
long  snipe  nose,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  weather-cock  perched 
upon  his  spindle  neck  to  tell  which  way  the  wind  blew.  To  see 
him  striding  along  the  profile  of  a  hill  on  a  windy  day,  with 
his  clothes  bagging  and  fluttering  about  him,  one  might  have 
mistaken  him  for  the  genius  of  famine  descending  upon  the 
earth,  or  some  scarecrow  eloped  from  a  cornfield. 

His  schoolhouse  was  a  low  building  of  one  large  room, 
rudely  constructed  of  logs;  the  windows  partly  glazed,  and 
partly  patched  with  leaves  of  old  copy-books.  It  was  most 
ingeniously  secured  at  vacant  hours  by  a  withe  twisted  in  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  stakes  set  against  the  window-shutters ; 
so  that,  though  a  thief  might  get  in  with  perfect  ease,  he  would 
find  some  embarrassment  in  getting  out — an  idea  most  probably 
borrowed  by  the  architect,  Yost  Van  Houten,  from  the  mystery 
of  an  eel-pot.  The  schoolhouse  stood  in  a  rather  lonely  but 
pleasant  situation,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  woody  hill,  with  a  brook 
running  close  by,  and  a  formidable  birch-tree  growing  at  one 
end  of  it.  From  hence  the  low  murmur  of  his  pupils'  voices, 
conning  over  their  lessons,  might  be  heard  in  a  drowsy  sum- 
mer's day,  like  the  hum  of  a  beehive,  interrupted  now  and  then 
by  the  authoritative  voice  of  the  master,  in  the  tone  of  menace 
or  command;  or,  peradventure,  by  the  appalling  sound  of  the 
birch,  as  he  urged  some  tardy  loiterer  along  the  flowery  path  of 


500  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

knowledge.  Truth  to  say,  he  was  a  conscientious  man,  and 
ever  bore  in  mind  the  golden  maxim,  "  Spare  the  rod,  and  spoil 
the  child."  Ichabod  Crane's  scholars  certainly  were  not  spoiled. 

I  would  not  have  it  imagined,  however,  that  he  was  one  of 
those  cruel  potentates  of  the  school  who  joy  in  the  smart  of  their 
subjects ;  on  the  contrary,  he  administered  justice  with  discrimi- 
nation rather  than  severity ;  taking  the  burden  off  the  backs  of 
the  weak,  and  laying  it  on  those  of  the  strong.  Your  mere 
puny  stripling  that  winced  at  the  least  flourish  of  the  rod,  was 
passed  by  with  indulgence ;  but  the  claims  of  justice  were  satis- 
fied by  inflicting  a  double  portion  on  some  little  tough,  wrong- 
headed,  broad-skirted  Dutch  urchin,  who  sulked  and  swelled 
and  grew  dogged  and  sullen  beneath  the  birch.  All  this  he 
called  "  doing  his  duty  by  their  parents ;  "  and  he  never  inflicted 
a  chastisement  without  following  it  by  the  assurance,  so  consol- 
atory to  the  smarting  urchin,  that  "  he  would  remember  it,  and 
thank  him  for  it,  the  longest  day  he  had  to  live." 

When  school-hours  were  over  he  was  even  the  companion 
and  playmate  of  the  larger  boys ;  and  on  holiday  afternoons 
would  convoy  some  of  the  smaller  ones  home  who  happened 
to  have  pretty  sisters,  or  good  housewives  for  mothers,  noted 
for  the  comforts  of  the  cupboard.  Indeed,  it  behooved  him  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  his  pupils.  The  revenue  arising  from 
his  school  was  small,  and  would  have  been  scarcely  sufficient 
to  furnish  him  with  daily  bread,  for  he  was  a  huge  feeder,  and, 
though  lank,  had  the  dilating  powers  of  an  anaconda ;  but  to 
help  out  his  maintenance,  he  was,  according  to  country  custom 
in  those  parts,  boarded  and  lodged  at  the  houses  of  the  farmers 
whose  children  he  instructed.  With  these  he  lived  successively 
a  week  at  a  time ;  thus  going  the  rounds  of  the  neighborhood, 
with  all  his  worldly  effects  tied  up  in  a  cotton  handkerchief. 

That  all  this  might  not  be  too  onerous  on  the  purses  of  his 
rustic  patrons,  who  are  apt  to  consider  the  costs  of  schooling  a 
grievous  burden,  and  schoolmasters  as  mere  drones,  he  had 
various  ways  of  rendering  himself  both  useful  and  agreeable. 
He  assisted  the  farmers  occasionally  in  the  lighter  labors  of 


ICHABOD    CRANE  501 

their  farms ;  helped  to  make  hay ;  mended  the  fences ;  took 
the  horses  to  water  ;  drove  the  cows  from  pasture  ;  cut  wood  for 
the  winter  fire.  He  laid  aside,  too,  all  the  dominant  dignity 
and  absolute  sway  with  which  he  lorded  it  in  his  little  empire, 
the  school,  and  became  wonderfully  gentle  and  ingratiating. 
He  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  mothers  by  petting  the  chil- 
dren, particularly  the  youngest ;  and  like  the  lion  bold,  which 
whilom  so  magnanimously  the  lamb  did  hold,  he  would  sit 
with  a  child  on  one  knee,  and  rock  a  cradle  with  his  foot  for 
whole  hours  together. 

In  addition  to  his  other  vocations,  he  was  the  singing-master 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  picked  up  many  bright  shillings  by 
instructing  the  young  folks  in  psalmody.  It  was  a  matter  of 
no  little  vanity  to  him,  on  Sundays,  to  take  his  station  in  front 
of  the  church  gallery,  with  a  band  of  chosen  singers ;  where,  in 
his  own  mind,  he  completely  carried  away  the  palm  from  the 
parson.  Certain  it  is,  his  voice  resounded  far  above  all  the 
rest  of  the  congregation ;  and  there  are  peculiar  quavers  still  to 
be  heard  in  that  church,  and  which  may  even  be  heard  half  a 
mile  off,  quite  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  mill-pond,  on  a  still 
Sunday  morning,  which  are  said  to  be  legitimately  descended 
from  the  nose  of  Ichabod  Crane.  Thus  by  divers  little  make- 
shifts in  that  ingenious  way  which  is  commonly  denominated 
"  by  hook  and  by  crook,"  the  worthy  pedagogue  got  on  toler- 
ably enough,  and  was  thought,  by  all  who  understood  nothing 
of  the  labor  of  head-work,  to  have  a  wonderfully  easy  life  of  it. 

The  schoolmaster  is  generally  a  man  of  some  importance  in 
the  female  circle  of  a  rural  neighborhood,  being  considered  a 
kind  of  idle  gentleman-like  personage,  of  vastly  superior  taste 
and  accomplishments  to  the  rough  country  swains,  and,  indeed, 
inferior  in  learning  only  to  the  parson.  His  appearance,  there- 
fore, is  apt  to  occasion  some  little  stir  at  the  tea-table  of  a  farm- 
house, and  the  addition  of  a  supernumerary  dish  of  cakes  or 
sweetmeats,  or,  peradventure,  the  parade  of  a  silver  tea-pot. 
Our  man  of  letters,  therefore,  was  peculiarly  happy  in  the  smiles 
of  all  the  country  damsels.  How  he  would  figure  among  them 


502  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

in  the  church-yard,  between  services  on  Sundays !  gathering 
grapes  for  them  from  the  wild  vines  that  overran  the  surround- 
ing trees ;  reciting  for  their  amusement  all  the  epitaphs  on  the 
tombstones ;  or  sauntering,  with  a  whole  bevy  of  them,  along 
the  banks  of  the  adjacent  mill-pond ;  while  the  more  bashful 
country  bumpkins  hung  sheepishly  back,  envying  his  superior 
elegance  and  address. 

From  his  half  itinerant  life,  also,  he  was  a  kind  of  traveling 
gazette,  carrying  the  whole  budget  of  local  gossip  from  house  to 
house ;  so  that  his  appearance  was  always  greeted  with  satisfac- 
tion. He  was,  moreover,  esteemed  by  the  women  as  a  man  of 
great  erudition,  for  he  had  read  several  books  quite  through, 
and  was  a  perfect  master  of  Cotton  Mather's  "  History  of  New 
England  Witchcraft " — in  which,  by  the  way,  he  most  firmly 
and  potently  believed. 

He  was,  in  fact,  a  mixture  of  small  shrewdness  and  simple 
credulity.  His  appetite  for  the  marvelous,  and  his  powers  of 
digesting  it,  were  equally  extraordinary ;  and  both  had  been 
increased  by  his  residence  in  this  spell-bound  region.  No  tale 
was  too  gross  or  monstrous  for  his  capacious  swallow.  It  was 
often  his  delight,  after  his  school  was  dismissed  in  the  afternoon, 
to  stretch  himself  on  the  rich  bed  of  clover  bordering  the  little 
brook  that  whimpered  by  his  schoolhouse,  and  there  con  over 
old  Mather's  direful  tales  until  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  even- 
ing made  the  printed  page  a  mere  mist  before  his  eyes.  Then, 
as  he  wended  his  way,  by  swamp  and  stream  and  awful  wood- 
land, to  the  farm-house  where  he  happened  to  be  quartered, 
every  sound  of  nature,  at  that  witching  hour,  fluttered  his 
excited  imagination, — the  moan  of  the  whippoorwill  from  the 
hill-side;  the  boding  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  that  harbinger  of 
storm ;  the  dreary  hooting  of  the  screech-owl,  or  the  sudden 
rustling  in  the  thicket  of  birds  frightened  from  their  roost. 
The  fire-flies,  too,  which  sparkled  most  vividly  in  the  darkest 
places,  now  and  then  startled  him,  as  one  of  uncommon  bright- 
ness would  stream  across  his  path ;  and  if,  by  chance,  a  huge 
blockhead  of  a  beetle  came  winging  his  blundering  flight  against 


ICHABOD    CRANE  503 

him,  the  poor  varlet  was  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  with  the 
idea  that  ke  was  struck  with  a  witch's  token.  His  only  resource 
on  such  occasions,  either  to  drown  thought  or  drive  away  evil 
spirits,  was  to  sing  psalm-tunes;  and  the  good  people  of  Sleepy 
Hollow,  as  they  sat  by  their  doors  of  an  evening,  were  often 
filled  with  awe  at  hearing  his  nasal  melody,  in  "  linked  sweet- 
ness long  drawn  out,"  floating  from  the  distant  hill,  or  along 
the  dusky  road. 

Another  of  his  sources  of  fearful  pleasure  was,  to  pass  long 
winter  evenings  with  the  old  Dutch  wives  as  they  sat  spinning 
by  the  fire,  with  a  row  of  apples  roasting  and  spluttering  along 
the  hearth,  and  listen  to  their  marvelous  tales  of  ghosts  and 
goblins,  and  haunted  fields,  and  haunted  brooks,  and  haunted 
bridges,  and  haunted  houses,  and  particularly  of  the  headless 
horseman,  or  Galloping  Hessian  of  the  Hollow,  as  they  some- 
times called  him.  He  would  delight  them  equally  by  his  anec- 
dotes of  witchcraft,  and  of  the  direful  omens  and  portentous 
sights  and  sounds  in  the  air  which  prevailed  in  the  earlier  times 
of  Connecticut ;  and  would  frighten  them  wofully  with  specula- 
tions upon  comets  and  shooting  stars ;  and  with  the  alarming 
fact  that  the  world  did  absolutely  turn  round ;  and  that  they 
were  half  the  time  topsy-turvy  I 


GEORGE    MAcDONALD 

1824- 

GEORGE  MACDONALD,  a  descendant  of  the  MacDonalds  of  Glencoe, 
and  a  son  of  a  wealthy  Scotch  manufacturer,  was  born  at  Huntley,  in 
Aberdeenshire,  Scotland,  in  1824.  His  college  days  were  passed  at  the 
University  of  Aberdeen ;  and  after  graduation  he  studied  theology  at 
Owen's  College,  in  Manchester.  For  some  years  he  was  an  indepen- 
dent minister  in  Surrey  and  Sussex  counties,  England.  Later  he  be- 
came a  layman  of  the  established  English  Church.  In  1855,  Mr.  Mac- 
Donald  issued  a  volume  of  poetry,  entitled  "Within  and  Without." 
This  was  followed  in  the  succeeding  year  by  another  book  of  "Poems," 
and  in  1858  by  "  Phan tastes,  a  Fairy  Romance." 

In  1863  appeared  the  author's  first  novel,  "David  Elginbrod,"  a 
work  of  powerful  and  dramatic  interest,  peculiarly  tinged  with  his 
speculative  tendency  and  mystic  significance.  The  success  of  the  book 
demonstrated  that  the  writer  had  found  his  true  vocation.  Other  prose 
works  followed  in  quick  succession,  maintaining  the  high  standard  of 
the  first,  and  revealing  an  untiring  energy,  and  an  inexhaustible  in- 
vention which  recalled  the  career  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  In  1872-3  Mr. 
MacDonald  visited  the  United  States,  and  made  a  lecturing  tour  of 
leading  American  cities,  in  which  he  was  most  cordially  received.  He 
has  long  resided  alternately  in  London  and  at  Hastings.  Among  his 
best  novels  are  "  The  Portent, "  "David  Elginbrod,"  "Robert  Fal- 
coner," "Wilfred  Cumbermede,"  "Malcolm,"  and  "Sir  G-ibbie." 

\ 

Characterization 

Certain  qualities  of  Mr.  MacDonald's  writings  lie  so  immediately 
upon  the  surface  that  it  can  scarcely  be  said  that  you  notice  them. 
Upon  reflection,  you  recall  them ;  but  it  would  hardly  strike  you  to 
say  that  he  is  singularly  pure,  elevated,  and  tender,  or  that  he  wrote 
beautiful  English.  Yet,  of  course,  all  this  is  true ;  and  the  transpar- 
ency or  lucidity  of  his  style  appears  to  be  closely  connected  with,  per- 
haps, the  first  peculiarity  that  an  attentive  reader  can  be  said  to 
notice.  It  reminds  you  of  running  water;  and  so,  also,  does  the  course 
of  the  author's  thought.  .  .  .  We  can  see  that  he  is  primarily  a 
poet;  he  sometimes  reaches  the  perfection  of  poetic  form  which  car- 
504 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  505 

ries  with  it  the  infinite  suggestion  that  may  make  a  small  poem  more 
valuable  than  a  big  prose  book,  however  good.  Yet  the  superiority 
in  point  of  force  and  profusion,  rests  with  his  prose  works.  ...  It 
may  be  a  hazardous  thing  to  say.  but  he  reminds  us  more  of  Mendels- 
sohn than  of  any  writer.  We  have  already  hinted  that  we  take  his 
genius  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  flower  of  certain  spiritual  tendencies 
of  our  time,  and  a  very  beautiful  and  fragrant  flower  it  is.  In  the 
dainty  little  casket  which  shuts  over  these  ten  volumes  there  is  more 
of  a  talismanic  virtue  than  the  reader  will  appropriate  in  a  lifetime. 

"CONTEMPORARY  EEVIEW." 


Extracts   from    "Malcolm" 

The  sea-town  of  Portlossie  was  as  irregular  a  gathering  of 
small  cottages  as  could  be  found  on  the  surface  of  the  globe. 
They  faced  every  way,  turned  their  backs  and  gables  every  way 
— only  of  the  roofs  could  you  predict  the  position ;  were  divided 
from  each  other  by  every  sort  of  small,  irregular  space  and 
passage,  and  looked  like  a  national  assembly  debating  a  con- 
stitution. Close  behind  the  Seaton,  as  it  was  called,  ran  a  high- 
way, climbing  far  above  the  chimneys  of  the  village  to  the  level 
of  the  town  above.  Behind  this  road,  and  separated  from  it  by 
a  high  wall  of  stone,  lay  a  succession  of  heights  and  hollows 
covered  with  grass.  In  front  of  the  cottages  lay  sand  and  sea. 
The  place  was  cleaner  than  most  fishing- villages,  but  so  closely 
built,  so  thickly  inhabited,  and  so  pervaded  with  "a  very  an- 
cient and  fish-like  smell,"  that  but  for  the  besom  of  the  salt 
north  wind  it  must  have  been  unhealthy.  Eastward  the  houses 
could  extend  no  further  for  the  harbor,  and  westward  no  further 
for  a  small  river  that  crossed  the  sands  to  find  the  sea — dis- 
cursively and  merrily  at  low  water,  but  with  sullen,  submissive 
mingling  when  banked  back  by  the  tide. 

Avoiding  the  many  nets  extended  long  and  wide  on  the 
grassy  sands,  the  youth  Malcolm  walked  through  the  tide-swol- 
len mouth  of  the  river,  and  passed  along  the  front  of  the  village 
until  he  arrived  at  a  house,  the  small  window  in  the  seaward 
gable  of  which  was  filled  with  a  curious  collection  of  things  for 
sale — dusty-looking  sweets  in  a  glass  bottle;  ginger-bread  cakes 


506  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

in  the  shape  of  large  hearts,  thickly  studded  with  sugar-plums 
of  rainbow  colors,  invitingly  poisonous;  strings  of  tin  covers 
for  tobacco-pipes,  over-lapping  each  other  like  fish-scales ;  toys, 
and  tapes,  and  needles,  and  twenty  other  kinds  of  things,  all 
huddled  together. 

Turning  the  corner  of  this  house,  he  went  down  the  narrow 
passage  between  it  and  the  next,  and  in  at  its  open  door.  But 
the  moment  it  was  entered  it  lost  all  appearance  of  a  shop,  and 
the  room  with  the  tempting  window  showed  itself  only  as  a 
poor  kitchen  with  an  earthen  floor. 

"  Weel,  hoo  did  the  pipes  behave  themsels  the  day,  daddy  ?  " 
said  the  youth  as  he  strode  in. 

"  Och,  she'll  pe  peing  a  coot  poy  to-day,"  returned  the  tremu- 
lous voice  of  a  gray-headed  old  man,  who  was  leaning  over  a 
small  peat-fire  on  the  hearth,  sifting  oatmeal  through  the  fin- 
gers of  Tiis  left  hand  into  a  pot,  while  he  stirred  the  boiling 
mess  with  a  short  stick  held  in  his  right. 

It  had  grown  to  be  understood  between  them  that  the  pul- 
monary conditions  of  the  old  piper  should  be  attributed  not  to 
his  internal,  but  his  external  lungs — namely,  the  bag  of  his 
pipes.  Both  sets  had  of  late  years  manifested  strong  symptoms 
of  decay,  and  decided  measures  had  had  to  be  again  and  again 
resorted  to  in  the  case  of  the  latter  to  put  off  its  evil  day,  and 
keep  within  it  the  breath  of  its  musical  existence.  The  youth's 
question,  then,  as  to  the  behavior  of  the  pipes,  was  in  reality 
an  inquiry  after  the  condition  of  his  grandfather's  lungs,  which, 
for  their  part,  grew  yearly  more  and  more  asthmatic :  notwith- 
standing which  Duncan  MacPhail  would  not  hear  of  resigning 
the  dignity  of  town-piper. 

"  That's  fine,  daddy,"  returned  the  youth.  "  Wull  I  mak  oot 
the  parritch  ?  I'm  thinkin'  ye've  had  eneuch  o'  hangin'  ower 
the  fire  this  het  mornin'."  .  .  . 

Malcolm  lifted  the   pot   from  the   table   and  set  it  on   the 

hearth ;  put  the  plates  together  and  the  spoons,  and  set  them 

on  a  chair,  for  there  was  no  dresser;  tilted  the  table,  and  wiped 

it  hearthward — then  from  a  shelf  took  down  and  laid  upon  it 

32 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  507 

a  Bible,  before  which  he  seated  himself  with  an  air  of  reverence. 
The  old  man  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  by  the  chimney  corner, 
took  off  his  bonnet,  closed  his  eyes  and  murmured  some  almost 
inaudible  words ;  then  repeated  in  Gaelic  the  first  line  of  the 
hundred  and  third  psalm : 

O  m'  anam,  beannuich  thus'  a  nis — 

and  raised  a  tune  of  marvelous  wail.  Arrived  at  the  end  of 
the  line,  he  repeated  the  process  with  the  next,  and  so  went  on, 
giving  every  line  first  in  the  voice  of  speech  and  then  in  the 
voice  of  song,  through  three  stanzas  of  eight  lines  each.  And 
no  less  strange  was  the  singing  than  the  tune — wild  and  wail- 
ful as  the  wind  of  his  native  desolations,  or  as  the  sound  of  his 
own  pipes  borne  thereon ;  and  apparently  all  but  lawless,  for 
the  multitude  of  so-called  grace-notes,  hovering  and  fluttering 
endlessly  around  the  center-tone  like  the  comments  on  a  text, 
rendered  it  nearly  impossible  to  unravel  from  them  the  air 
even  of  a  known  tune.  It  had  in  its  kind  the  same  liquid 
uncertainty  of  confluent  sound  which  had  hitherto  rendered  it 
impossible  for  Malcolm  to  learn  more  than  a  few  of  the  com- 
mon phrases  of  his  grandfather's  mother-tongue. 

The  psalm  over,  during  which  the  sightless  eye-balls  of  the 
singer  had  been  turned  up  toward  the  rafters  of  the  cottage — 
a  sign  surely  that  the  germ  of  light,  "  the  sunny  seed,"  as 
Henry  Vaughan  calls  it,  must  be  in  him,  else  why  should  he 
lift  his  eyes  when  he  thought  upward  ?— Malcolm  read  a  chap- 
ter of  the  Bible,  plainly  the  next  in  an  ordered  succession,  for 
it  could  never  have  been  chosen  or  culled ;  after  which  they 
kneeled  together,  and  the  old  man  poured  out  a  prayer,  begin- 
ning in  a  low,  scarcely  audible  voice,  which  rose  at  length  to  a 
loud,  modulated  chant.  Not  a  sentence,  hardly  a  phrase  of 
the  utterance  did  his  grandson  lay  hold  of;  but  there  were  a 
few  inhabitants  of  the  place  who  could  have  interpreted  it,  and 
it  was  commonly  believed  that  one  part  of  his  devotions  was 
invariably  a  prolonged  petition  for  vengeance  on  Campbell  of 
Glenlyon,  the  main  instrument  in  the  massacre  of  Glencoe. 


508  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

He  could  have  prayed  in  English,  and  then  his  grandson 
might  have  joined  in  his  petitions,  but  the  thought  of  such  a 
thing  would  never  have  presented  itself  to  him.  Nay,  although, 
understanding  both  languages,  he  used  that  which  was  unin- 
telligible to  the  lad,  he  yet  regarded  himself  as  the  party  who 
had  the  right  to  resent  the  consequent  schism.  Such  a  conver- 
sation as  now  followed  was  no  new  thing  after  prayers. 

;'  I  could  fery  well  wish,  Malcolm,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  tat  you  would  be  learnin'  to  speak  your  own  lancuach.  It  is 
all  fery  well  for  ta  Sassenach  (Saxon,  i.e.,  non-Celtic)  podies  to 
read  ta  Piple  in  English,  for  it  will  be  pleasing  ta  Maker  not 
to  make  tern  cawpable  of  ta  Gaelic,  no  more  tan  monkeys ;  but 
for  all  tat  it's  not  ta  vord  of  God.  Ta  Gaelic  is  ta  lancuach  of 
ta  carden  of  Aiden,  and  no  doubt  but  it  pe  ta  lancuach  in  which 
ta  Shepherd  calls  his  sheep  on  ta  everlastin'  hills.  You  see, 
Malcolm,  it  must  be  so,  for  how  can  a  mortal  man  speak  to  his 
God  in  anything  put  Gaelic  ?  When  Mr.  Graham — no,  not  Mr. 
Graham,  ta  coot  man ;  it  was  ta  new  minister — he  speak  an' 
say  to  her :  '  Mr.  MacPhail,  you  ought  to  make  your  prayers  in 
Enclish,'  I  was  fery  wrathful,  and  I  answered  and  said :  '  Mr. 
Downey,  do  you  tare  to  suppose  tat  God  doesn't  prefer  ta  Gaelic 
to  ta  Sassenach  tongue  ?  ' — s  Mr.  MacPhail,'  says  he,  '  it'll  pe  for 
your  poy  I  mean  it.  How's  ta  lad  to  learn  ta  way  of  salvation 
if  you  speak  to  your  God  in  his  presence  in  a  strange  tongue  ? ' 
So  I  was  opedient  to  his  vord,  and  ta  next  efening  I  tid  kneel 
town  in  Sassenach  and  I  tid  make  begin.  But,  ochone !  she 
wouldn't  go ;  her  tongue  would  be  cleafmg  to  ta  roof  of  her 
mouth ;  ta  claymore  woold  be  sticking  rusty  in  ta  scappard ; 
for  her  heart  she  wras  ashamed  to  speak  to  ta  Hielan'man's 
Maker  in  ta  Sassenach  tongue.  You  must  pe  learning  ta 
Gaelic,  or  you'll  not  pe  peing  worthy  to  pe  her  nain  son, 
Malcolm." 

As  soon  as  his  grandfather  left  the  house,  Malcolm  went  out 
also,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  and  turning  the  key,  but' 
leaving  it  in  the  lock.     He  ascended  to  the  upper  town,  only, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  509 

however,  to  pass  through  its  main  street,  at  the  top  of  which 
he  turned  and  looked  back  for  a  few  moments,  apparently  in 
contemplation.  The  descent  to  the  shore  was  so  sudden  that 
he  could  see  nothing  of  the  harbor  or  of  the  village  he  had  left 
—nothing  but  the  blue  bay  and  the  filmy  mountains  of  Suther- 
landshire,  molten  by  distance  into  cloudy  questions,  and  look- 
ing, betwixt  blue  sea  and  blue  sky,  less  substantial  than  either. 
After  gazing  for  a  moment,  he  turned  again,  and  held  on  his 
way,  through  fields  which  no  fence  parted  from  the  road.  The 
morning  was  still  glorious,  the  larks  right  jubilant,  and  the 
air  filled  with  the  sweet  scents  of  cottage  flowers.  Across  the 
fields  came  the  occasional  low  of  an  ox,  and  the  distant  sounds 
of  children  at  play.  But  Malcolm  saw  without  noting,  and 
heard  without  seeing,  for  his  mind  was  full  of  speculation 
concerning  the  lovely  girl  whose  vision  appeared  already  far 
off: — who  might  she  be? — whence  had  she  come? — whither 
could  she  have  vanished?  That  she  did  not  belong  to  the 
neighborhood  was  certain,  he  thought ;  but  there  was  a  farm- 
house near  the  sea-town  where  they  let  lodgings  ;  and,  although 
it  was  early  in  the  season,  she  might  belong  to  some  family 
which  had  come  to  spend  a  few  of  the  summer  weeks  there ; 
possibly  his  appearance  had  prevented  her  from  having  her 
bath  that  morning.  If  he  should  have  the  good  fortune  to  see 
her  again,  he  would  show  her  a  place  far  fitter  for  the  purpose 
— a  perfect  arbor  of  rocks,  utterly  secluded,  with  a  floor  of  deep 
sand,  and  without  a  hole  for  crab  or  lobster. 

His  road  led  him  in  the  direction  of  a  few  cottages  lying  in 
a  hollow.  Beside  them  rose  a  vision  of  trees,  bordered  by  an 
ivy-grown  wall,  from  amidst  whose  summits  shot  the  spire  of 
the  church ;  and  from  beyond  the  spire,  through  the  trees,  came 
golden  glimmers  as  of  vane  and  crescent  and  pinnacled  ball, 
that  hinted  at  some  shadowy  abode  of  enchantment  within  ;  but 
as  he  descended  the  slope  towards  the  cottages  the  trees  gradu- 
ally rose  and  shut  in  everything. 

These  cottages  were  far  more  ancient  than  the  houses  of  the 
town ;  were  covered  with  green  thatch ;  were  buried  in  ivy,  and 


610  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

would  soon  be  radiant  with  roses  and  honeysuckles.  They  were 
gathered  irregularly  about  a  gate  of  curious  old  iron- work,  open- 
ing on  the  churchyard,  but  more  like  an  entrance  to  the  grounds 
behind  the  church,  for  it  told  of  ancient  state,  bearing  on  each 
of  its  pillars  a  great  stone  heron  with  a  fish  in  its  beak. 

This  was  the  quarter  whence  had  come  the  noises  of  children, 
but  they  had  now  ceased,  or  rather  sunk  into  a  gentle  murmur, 
which  oozed  like  the  sound  of  bees  from  a  straw-covered  bee- 
hive, out  of  a  cottage  rather  larger  than  the  rest,  which  stood 
close  by  the  churchyard  gate.  It  was  the  parish  school,  and 
these  cottages  were  all  that  remained  of  the  old  town  of  Port- 
lossie,  which  had  at  one  time  stretched  in  a  long,  irregular  street 
almost  to  the  shore.  The  town  cross  yet  stood,  but  away  soli- 
tary on  a  green  hill  that  overlooked  the  sands. 

During  the  summer  the  long  walk  from  the  new  town  to  the 
school  and  to  the  church  was  anything  but  a  hardship ;  in  winter 
it  was  otherwise,  for  then  there  were  days  in  which  few  would 
venture  the  single  mile  that  separated  them. 

The  door  of  the  school,  bisected  longitudinally,  had  one  of  its 
halves  open,  and  by  it  outflowed  the  gentle  hum  of  the  honey- 
bees of  learning.  Malcolm  walked  in  and  had  the  whole  of  the 
busy  scene  at  once  before  him.  The  place  was  like  a  barn, 
open  from  wall  to  wall,  and  from  floor  to  rafters  and  thatch, 
browned  with  the  peat  smoke  of  vanished  winters.  Two  thirds 
of  the  space  were  filled  with  long  desks  and  forms ;  the  other 
had  only  the  master's  desk,  and  thus  afforded  room  for  stand- 
ing classes.  At  the  present  moment  it  was  vacant,  for  the 
prayer  was  but  just  over,  and  the  Bible-class  had  not  been 
called  up  :  there  Alexander  Graham,  the  schoolmaster,  descend- 
ing from  his  desk,  met  and  welcomed  Malcolm  with  a  kind 
shake  of  the  hand.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  height,  but  very 
thin ;  and  about  five  and  forty  years  of  age,  but  looked  older, 
because  of  his  thin  gray  hair  and  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  shabby  black  tail-coat,  and  clean  white  neck- 
cloth ;  the  rest  of  his  clothes  were  of  parson  gray,  noticeably 
shabby  also.  The  quiet  sweetness  of  his  smile,  and  a  composed 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  511 

look  of  submission  were  suggestive  of  the  purification  of  sor- 
row, but  were  attributed  by  the  townsfolk  to  disappointment ; 
for  he  was  still  but  a  schoolmaster,  whose  aim  they  thought 
must  be  a  pulpit  and  a  parish.  But  Mr.  Graham  had  been 
early  released  from  such  an  ambition,  if  it  had  ever  possessed 
him,  and  had  for  many  years  been  more  than  content  to  give 
himself  to  the  hopefuller  work  of  training  children  for  the  true 
ends  of  life.  He  lived  the  quietest  of  studious  lives,  with  an  old 
housekeeper. 

Malcolm  had  been  a  favorite  pupil,  and  the  relation  of  mas- 
ter and  scholar  did  not  cease  when  the  latter  saw  that  he  ought 
to  do  something  to  lighten  the  burden  of  his  grandfather,  and 
so  left  the  school  and  betook  himself  to  the  life  of  a  fisherman 
— with  the  slow  leave  of  Duncan,  who  had  set  his  heart  on 
making  a  scholar  of  him,  and  would  never,  indeed,  had  Gaelic 
been  amongst  his  studies,  have  been  won  by  the  most  labor- 
some  petition.  He  asserted  himself  perfectly  able  to  provide 
for  both  for  ten  years  to  come  at  least,  in  proof  of  which  he 
roused  the  inhabitants  of  Portlossie,  during  the  space  of  a  whole 
month,  a  full  hour  earlier  than  usual,  with  the  most  terrific 
blasts  of  the  bagpipes,  and  this  notwithstanding  complaint  and 
expostulation  on  all  sides,  so  that  at  length  the  provost  had  to 
interfere ;  after  which  outburst  of  defiance  to  time,  however, 
his  energy  had  begun  to  decay  so  visibly  that  Malcolm  gave 
himself  to  the  pipes  in  secret,  that  he  might  be  ready,  in  case 
of  sudden  emergency,  to  take  his  grandfather's  place;  for 
Duncan  lived  in  constant  dread  of  the  hour  when  his  office 
might  be  taken  from  him  and  conferred  on  a  mere  drummer, 
or,  still  worse,  on  a  certain  ne'er-do-weel  cousin  of  the  provost, 
so  devoid  of  music  as  to  be  capable  only  of  ringing  a  bell. 

"  I've  had  an  invitation  to  Miss  Campbell's  funeral — Miss 
Horn's  cousin,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  in  a  hesitating  and 
subdued  voice.  "  Could  you  manage  to  take  the  school  for  me, 
Malcolm?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  There's  naething  to  hinner  me.  What  day  is  't 
upo'  ?  " 


512  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"Saturday." 

"  Verra  weel,  sir.     I  s'  be  here  in  guid  time." 

This  matter  settled,  the  business  of  the  school,  in  which,  as 
he  did  often,  Malcolm  had  come  to  assist,  began.  Only  a  pupil 
of  his  own  could  have  worked  with  Mr.  Graham,  for  his  mode 
was  very  peculiar.  But  the  strangest  fact  in  it  would  have  been 
the  last  to  reveal  itself  to  an  ordinary  observer.  This  was,  that 
he  rarely  contradicted  anything.  He  would  call  up  the  oppos- 
ing truth,  set  it  face  to  face  with  the  error,  and  leave  the  two 
to  fight  it  out.  The  human  mind  and  conscience  were,  he  said, 
the  plains  of  Armageddon,  where  the  battle  of  good  and  evil 
was  forever  raging ;  and  the  one  business  of  a  teacher  was  to 
rouse  and  urge  this  battle  by  leading  fresh  forces  of  the  truth 
into  the  field — forces  composed  as  little  as  might  be  of  the  hire- 
ling troops  of  the  intellect,  and  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
native  energies  of  the  heart,  imagination,  and  conscience.  In 
a  word,  he  would  oppose  error  only  by  teaching  the  truth. 

In  early  life  he  had  come  under  the  influence  of  the  writings 
of  William  Law,  which  he  read  as  one  who  pondered  every  doc- 
trine in  that  light  which  only  obedience  to  the  truth  can  open 
upon  it.  With  a  keen  eye  for  the  discovery  of  universal  law  in 
the  individual  fact,  he  read  even  the  marvels  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment practically.  Hence,  in  training  his  soldiers,  every  lesson 
he  gave  them  was  a  missile ;  every  admonishment  of  youth  or 
maiden  was  as  the  mounting  of  an  armed  champion,  and  the 
launching  of  him  with  a  God-speed  into  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

He  now  called  up  the  Bible-class,  and  Malcolm  sat  beside  and 
listened.  That  morning  they  had  to  read  one  of  the  chapters 
in  the  history  of  Jacob. 

"  Was  Jacob  a  good  man  ?  "  he  asked,  as  soon  as  the  reading 
(each  of  the  scholars  in  turn  taking  a  verse)  was  over. 

An  apparently  universal  expression  of  assent  followed ;  halt 
ing  in  its  wake,  however,  came  the  voice  of  a  boy  near  the 
bottom  of  the  class : 

"  Wasna  he  some  dooble,  sir?  " 

"  You  are  right,  Sheltie,"  said  the  master ;  "  he  was  double. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  513 

I  must,  I  find,  put  the  question  in  another  shape  :  Was  Jacob 
a  bad  man  ?  " 

Again  came  such  a  burst  of  yeses  that  it  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  general  hiss.  But  limping  in  the  rear  came  again 
the  half-dissentient  voice  of  Jamie  Joss,  whom  the  master  had 
just  addressed  as  Sheltie : 

"  Pairtly,  sir." 

"  You  think,  then,  Sheltie,  that  a  man  may  be  both  bad  and 
good?" 

"  I  dinna  ken,  sir.  I  think  he  may  be  whiles  ane  an'  whiles 
the  ither,  an'  whiles  maybe  it  wad  be  ill  to  say  whilk.  Oor 
collie's  whiles  in  twa  min's  whether  he'll  du  what  he's  telled  or 
no." 

"  That's  the  battle  of  Armageddon,  Sheltie,  my  man.  It's 
aye  ragin',  ohn  gun  roared  or  bagonet  clashed.  Ye  maun  up 
an'  do  yer  best  in't,  my  man.  Gien  ye  dee  fechtin'  like  a  man, 
ye'll  flee  up  wi'  a  quaiet  face  an'  wide-open  een ;  an'  there's  a 
great  Ane  'at  '11  say  to  ye,  '  Weel  dune,  laddie ! '  But  gien  ye 
gie  in  to  the  enemy,  he'll  turn  ye  intill  a  creepin'  thing  'at  eats 
dirt;  an'  there'll  no  be  a  hole  in  a'  the  crystal  wa'  o'  the  New 
Jerusalem  near  eneuch  to  the  grun'  to  lat  ye  creep  throu'." 

As  soon  as  ever  Alexander  Graham,  the  polished  thinker  and 
sweet-mannered  gentleman,  opened  his  mouth  concerning  the 
things  he  loved  best,  that  moment  the  most  poetic  forms  came 
pouring  out  in  the  most  rugged  speech. 

"  I  reckon,  sir,"  said  Sheltie,  "  Jacob  hadna  fouchten  oot  his 
battle." 

"  That's  jist  it,  my  boy.  And  because  he  wouldna  get  up  and 
fecht  manfully,  God  had  to  tak  him  in  han'.  Ye've  heard  tell 
o'  generals,  when  their  troops  war  rinnin'  awa',  haein'  to  cut 
this  man  doon,  shute  that  ane,  and  lick  anither,  till  he  turned 
them  a'  richt  face  aboot  and  drave  them  on  to  the  foe  like  a 
spate !  And  the  trouble  God  took  wi'  Jacob  wasna  lost  upon 
him  at  last." 

"An'  what  cam  o'  Esau,  sir?"  asked  a  pale-faced  maiden 
with  blue  eyes.  "  He  wasna  an  ill  kin'  o'  a  chield — was  he,  sir  ?  " 
s.  M.— 33 


514  GEORGE  MAcDONALD 

"  No,  Mappy,"  answered  the  master ;  "  he  was  a  fine  chield, 
as  you  say ;  but  he  nott  (needed)  mair  time  and  gentler  treat- 
ment to  inak  onything  o'  him.  Ye  see  he  had  a  guid  hert,  but 
was  a  duller  kin'  o'  cratur  a'thegither,  and  cared  for  naething 
he  could  na  see  or  han'le.  He  never  thoucht  muckle  aboot  God 
at  a'.  Jacob  was  anither  sort — a  poet  kin'  o'  a  man,  but  a 
sneck-drawin'  cratur  for  a'  that.  It  was  easier,  hooever,  to  get 
the  slyness  oot  o'  Jacob,  than  the  dullness  oot  o'  Esau.  Punish- 
ment tellt  upo'  Jacob  like  upon  a  thin-skinned  horse,  whauras 
Esau  was  mair  like  the  minister's  powny,  that  can  hardly  be 
made  to  unnerstan'  that  ye  want  him  to  gang  on.  But  o'  the 
ither  han',  dullness  is  a  thing  that  can  be  borne  wi':  there's 
nay  hurry  aboot  that ;  but  the  deceitfu'  tricks  o'  Jacob  war  na 
to  be  endured,  and  sae  the  tawse  (leather-strap)  cam  doon  upo' 
him." 

"  An'  what  for  didna  God  mak  Esau  as  clever  as  Jacob  ?  " 
asked  a  wizened-faced  boy  near  the  top  of  the  class. 

"  Ah,  my  Peery  !  "  said  Mr.  Graham,  "  I  canna  tell  ye  that. 
A'  that  I  can  tell  is,  that  God  hadna  dune  makin'  at  him,  an' 
some  kin'  o'  fowk  tak  langer  to  mak  oot  than  ithers.  An'  ye 
canna  tell  what  they're  to  be  till  they're  made  oot.  But  whether 
what  I  tell  ye  be  richt  or  no,  God  maun  hae  the  verra  best  o' 
rizzons  for  't,  ower  guid  maybe  for  us  to  unnerstan' — the  best 
o'  rizzons  for  Esau  himsel',  I  mean,  for  the  Creator  luiks  efter 
his  cratur  first  ava'  (of  all).  And  now,"  concluded  Mr.  Gra- 
ham, resuming  his  English,  "  go  to  your  lessons ;  and  be  dili- 
gent, that  God  may  think  it  worth  while  to  get  on  faster  with 
the  making  of  you." 

In  a  moment  the  class  was  dispersed  and  all  were  seated. 
In  another,  the  sound  of  scuffling  arose,  and  fists  were  seen 
storming  across  a  desk. 

"Andrew  Jamieson  and  Poochy,  come  up  here,"  said  the 
master  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  He  hittit  me  first,"  cried  Andrew,  the  moment  they  were 
within  a  respectful  distance  of  the  master,  whereupon  Mr.  Gra- 
ham turned  to  the  other  with  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  515 

"  He  had  nae  business  to  ca'  me  Poochy." 

"No  more  he  had ;  but  you  had  just  as  little  right  to  punish 
him  for  it.  The  offense  was  against  me ;  he  had  no  right  to 
use  my  name  for  you,  and  the  quarrel  was  mine.  For  the 
present,  you  are  Poochy  no  more.  Go  to  your  place,  William 
Wilson." 

The  boy  burst  out  sobbing,  and  crept  back  to  his  seat  with  his 
knuckles  in  his  eyes. 

"  Andrew  Jamieson,"  the  master  went  on,  "  I  had  almost  got 
a  name  for  you,  but  you  have  sent  it  away.  You  are  not  ready 
for  it  yet,  I  see.  Go  to  your  place." 

With  downcast  looks  Andrew  followed  William,  and  the 
watchful  eyes  of  the  master  saw  that,  instead  of  quarreling  any 
more  during  the  day,  they  seemed  to  catch  at  every  opportunity 
of  showing  each  other  a  kindness. 

Mr.  Graham  never  used  bodily  punishment ;  he  ruled  chiefly 
by  the  aid  of  a  system  of  individual  titles,  of  the  mingled  char- 
acters of  pet-name  and  nickname.  As  soon  as  the  individuality 
of  a  boy  had  attained  to  signs  of  blossoming — that  is,  had  become 
such  that  he  could  predict  not  only  an  upright  but  a  character- 
istic behavior  in  given  circumstances,  he  would  take  him  aside 
and  whisper  in  his  ear  that  henceforth,  so  long  as  he  deserved 
it,  he  would  call  him  by  a  certain  name — one  generally  derived 
from  some  object  in  the  animal  or  vegetable  world,  and  pointing 
to  a  resemblance  which  was  not  often  patent  to  any  eye  but  the 
master's  own.  He  had  given  the  name  of  Poochy,  for  instance, 
to  William  Wilson,  because,  like  the  kangaroo,  he  sought  his 
object  in  a  succession  of  awkward,  yet  not  the  less  availing  leaps 
— gulping  his  knowledge  and  pocketing  his  conquered  marble 
after  a  like  fashion.  Mappy,  the  name  which  thus  belonged  to 
a  certain  flaxen-haired,  soft-eyed  girl,  corresponds  to  the  English 
bunny.  Sheltie  is  the  small  Scotch  mountain-pony,  active  and 
strong.  Peery  means  pegtop.  But  not  above  a  quarter  of  the 
children  had  pet  names.  To  gain  one  was  to  reach  the  highest 
honor  of  the  school ;  the  withdrawal  of  it  was  the  severest  of 
punishments,  and  the  restoring  of  it  the  sign  of  perfect  reconcili- 


516  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

ation.  The  master  permitted  no  one  else  to  use  it,  and  was 
seldom  known  to  forget  himself  so  far  as  to  utter  it  while  its 
owner  was  in  disgrace.  The  hope  of  gaining  such  a  name,  or 
the  fear  of  losing  it,  was  in  the  pupil  the  strongest  ally  of  the 
master,  the  most  powerful  enforcement  of  his  influences.  It  was 
a  scheme  of  government  by  aspiration.  But  it  owed  all  its 
operative  power  to  the  character  of  the  man  who  had  adopted 
rather  than  invented  it — for  the  scheme  had  been  suggested  by 
a  certain  passage  in  the  book  of  the  Revelation. 

Without  having  read  a  word  of  Swedenborg,  he  was  a  believer 
in  the  absolute  correspondence  of  the  inward  and  outward ;  and, 
thus  long  before  the  younger  Darwin  arose,  had  suspected  a  close 
relationship — remote  identity,  indeed,  in  nature  and  history, 
between  the  animal  and  human  worlds.  But  photographs  from 
a  good  many  different  points  would  be  necessary  to  afford  any- 
thing like  a  complete  notion  of  the  character  of  this  country 
schoolmaster. 

Towards  noon,  while  he  was  busy  with  an  astronomical  class, 
explaining,  by  means  partly  of  the  blackboard,  partly  of  two 
boys  representing  the  relation  of  the  earth  and  the  moon,  how 
it  comes  that  we  see  but  one  half  of  the  latter,  the  door  gently 
opened  and  the  troubled-  face  of  the  mad  laird  peeped  slowly  in. 
His  body  followed  as  gently,  and  at  last — sad  symbol  of  his 
weight  of  care — his  hump  appeared,  with  a  slow  half-revolution 
as  he  turned  to  shut  the  door  behind  him.  Taking  off  his  hat, 
he  walked  up  to  Mr.  Graham,  who,  busy  with  his  astronomy, 
had  not  perceived  his  entrance,  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and, 
standing  on  tip-toe,  whispered  softly  in  his  ear,  as  if  it  were  a 
painful  secret  that  must  be  respected  : 

"  I  dinna  ken  whaur  I  cam  frae.  I  want  to  come  to  the 
school." 

Mr.  Graham  turned  and  shook  hands  with  him,  respectfully 
addressing  him  as  Mr.  Stewart,  and  got  down  for  him  the  arm- 
chair which  stood  behind  his  desk.  But  with  the  politest  bow 
the  laird  declined  it,  and  mournfully  repeating  the  words,  "  I 
dinna  ken  whaur  I  cam  frae,"  took  a  place  readily  yielded 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  517 

him  in  the  astronomical  circle  surrounding  the  symbolic 
boys. 

This  was  not  by  any  means  his  first  appearance  there ;  for 
every  now  and  then  he  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  go  to  school, 
plainly  with  the  object  of  finding  out  where  he  came  from. 
This  always  fell  in  his  quieter  times,  and  for  days  together  he 
would  attend  regularly ;  in  one  instance  he  was  not  absent  an 
hour  for  a  whole  month.  He  spoke  so  little,  however,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  tell  how  much  he  understood,  although  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  all  that  went  on.  He  was  so  quiet,  so  sadly 
gentle,  that  he  gave  no  trouble  of  any  sort,  and  after  the  first 
few  minutes  of  a  fresh  appearance,  the  attention  of  the  scholars 
was  rarely  distracted  by  his  presence. 

The  way  in  which  the  master  treated  him  awoke  like  respect 
in  his  pupils.  Boys  and  girls  were  equally  ready  to  make  room 
for  him  on  their  forms,  and  any  one  of  the  latter  who  had  by 
some  kind  attention  awakened  the  watery  glint  of  a  smile  on  the 
melancholy  features  of  the  troubled  man,  would  boast  of  her 
success.  Hence  it  came  that  the  neighborhood  of  Portlossie  was 
the  one  spot  in  the  county  where  a  person  of  weak  intellect  or 
peculiar  appearance  might  go  about  free  of  insult. 

The  peculiar  sentence  the  laird  so  often  uttered  was  the  only 
one  he  invariably  spoke  with  definite  clearness.  In  every  other 
attempt  at  speech  he  was  liable  to  be  assailed  by  an  often  recur- 
ring impediment,  during  the  continuance  of  which  he  could 
compass  but  a  word  here  and  there,  often  betaking  himself,  in 
the  agony  of  suppressed  utterance,  to  the  most  extravagant 
gestures,  with  which  he  would  sometimes  succeed  in  so  supple- 
menting his  words  as  to  render  his  meaning  intelligible. 

The  two  boys  representing  the  earth  and  the  moon  had 
returned  to  their  places  in  the  class,  and  Mr.  Graham  had  gone 
on  to  give  a  description  of  the  moon,  in  which  he  had  necessarily 
mentioned  the  enormous  height  of  her  mountains  as  compared 
with  those  of  the  earth.  But  in  the  course  of  asking  some 
questions,  he  found  a  need  of  further  explanation,  and  therefore 
once  more  required  the  services  of  the  boy -sun  and  boy-moon. 


518  GEORGE   MACDONALD 

The  moment  the  latter,  however,  began  to  describe  his  circle 
around  the  former,  Mr.  Stewart  stepped  gravely  up  to  him,  and 
laying  hold  of  his  hand,  led  him  back  to  his  station  in  the  class ; 
then,  turning  first  one  shoulder,  then  the  other  to  the  company, 
so  as  to  attract  attention  to  his  hump,  uttered  the  single  word 
Mountain,  and  took  on  himself  the  part  of  the  moon,  proceeding 
to  revolve  in  the  circle  which  represented  her  orbit.  Several  of 
the  boys  and  girls  smiled,  but  no  one  laughed,  for  Mr.  Graham's 
gravity  maintained  theirs.  v  Without  remark,  he  used  the  mad 
laird  for  a  moon  to  the  end  of  his  explanation. 

Mr.  Stewart  remained  in  the  school  all  the  morning,  stood  up 
with  every  class  Mr.  Graham  taught,  and  in  the  intervals  sat, 
with  book  or  slate  before  him,  still  as  a  Brahmin  on  the  fancied 
verge  of  his  reabsorption,  save  that  he  murmured  to  himself 
now  and  then : 

"  I  dinna  ken  whaur  I  cam  frae." 

When  his  pupils  dispersed  for  dinner,  Mr.  Graham  invited 
him  to  go  to  his  house  and  share  his  homely  meal ;  but  with 
polished  gesture  and  broken  speech,  Mr.  Stewart  declined, 
walked  away  towards  the  town,  and  was  seen  no  more  that 
afternoon. 

The  next  day,  the  day  of  the  Resurrection,  rose  glorious  from 
its  sepulcher  of  sea-fog  and  drizzle.  It  had  poured  all  night 
long,  but  at  sunrise  the  clouds  had  broken  and  scattered,  and 
the  air  was  the  purer  for  the  cleansing  rain,  while  the  earth 
shone  with  that  peculiar  luster  which  follows  the  weeping  which 
has  endured  its  appointed  night.  The  larks  were  at  it  again, 
singing  as  if  their  hearts  would  break  for  joy  as  they  hovered  in 
brooding  exultation  over  the  song  of  the  future  ;  for  their  nests 
beneath  hoarded  a  wealth  of  larks  for  summers  to  come.  Espe- 
cially about  the  old  church — half  buried  in  the  ancient  trees  of 
Lossie  House,  the  birds  that  day  were  jubilant ;  their  throats 
seemed  too  narrow  to  let  out  the  joyful  air  that  filled  all  their 
hollow  bones  and  quills ;  they  sang  as  if  they  must  sing,  or  choke 
with  too  much  gladness.  Beyond  the  short  spire  and  its  shin- 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  519 

ing  cock,  rose  the  balls  and  stars  and  arrowy  vanes  of  the  House, 
glittering  in  gold  and  sunshine. 

The  inward  hush  of  the  resurrection,  broken  only  by  the 
prophetic  birds,  the  poets  of  the  groaning  and  travailing  crea- 
tion, held  time  and  space  as  in  a  trance ;  and  the  center  from 
which  radiated  both  the  hush  and  the  caroling  expectation 
seemed  to  Alexander  Graham  to  be  the  churchyard  in  which 
he  was  now  walking  in  the  cool  of  the  morning.  It  was  more 
carefully  kept  than  most  Scottish  churchyards,  and  yet  was  not 
too  trim:  Nature  had  a  word  in  the  affair — was  allowed  her 
part  of  mourning,  in  long  grass  and  moss  and  the  crumbling 
away  of  stone.  The  wholesomeness  of  decay,  which  both  in 
nature  and  humanity  is  but  the  miry  road  back  to  life,  was 
not  unrecognized  here;  there  was  nothing  of  the  hideous 
attempt  to  hide  death  in  the  garments  of  life.  The  master 
walked  about  gently,  now  stopping  to  read  some  well-known 
inscription  and  ponder  for  a  moment  over  the  words ;  and  now 
wandering  across  the  stoneless  mounds,  content  to  be  forgotten 
by  all  but  those  who  loved  the  departed.  At  length  he  seated 
himself  on  a  slat  by  the  side  of  the  mound  that  rose  but  yes- 
terday; it  was  sculptured  with  symbols  of  decay — needless 
surely  where  the  originals  lay  about  the  mouth  of  every  newly 
opened  grave,  and  as  surely  ill-befitting  the  precincts  of  a 
church  whose  indwelling  gospel  is  of  life  victorious  over  death  ! 

"  What  are  these  stones,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  but  monu- 
ments to  oblivion?  They  are  not  memorials  of  the  dead,  but 
memorials  of  the  forgetfulness  -of  the  living.  How  vain  it  is  to 
send  a  poor  forsaken  name,  like  the  title-page  of  a  lost  book, 
down  the  careless  stream  of  time !  Let  rue  serve  my  genera- 
tion, and  let  God  remember  me ! " 

The  morning  wore  on ;  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher.  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  Nosce  Teipsum  of  Sir  John  Davies,  and 
was  still  reading,  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  fine  logic  of  the 
lawyer-poet,  when  he  heard  the  church  key,  in  the  trembling 
hand  of  Jonathan  Auld,  the  sexton,  jar  feebly  battling  with 
the  reluctant  lock.  Soon  the  people  began  to  gather,  mostly  in 


520  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

groups  and  couples.  At  length  came  solitary  Miss  Horn, 
whom  the  neighbors,  from  respect  to  her  sorrow,  had  left  to 
walk  alone.  But  Mr.  Graham  went  to  meet  her,  and  accom- 
panied her  into  the  church. 

It  was  a  cruciform  building,  as  old  as  the  vanished  monas- 
tery, and  the  burial  place  of  generations  of  noble  blood ;  the 
dust  of  royalty  even  lay  under  its  floor.  A  knight  of  stone 
reclined  cross-legged  in  a  niche  with  an  arched  Norman  canopy 
in  one  of  the  walls,  the  rest  of  which  was  nearly  encased  in 
large  tablets  of  white  marble,  for  at  his  foot  lay  the  ashes  of 
barons  and  earls  whose  title  was  extinct,  and  whose  lands  had 
been  inherited  by  the  family  of  Lossie.  Inside  as  well  as  out- 
side of  the  church  the  ground  had  risen  with  the  dust  of 
generations,  so  that  the  walls  were  low;  and  heavy  galleries 
having  been  erected  in  parts,  the  place  was  filled  with  shadowy 
recesses  and  haunted  with  glooms. 

From  a  window  in  the  square  pew  where  he  sat,  so  small  and 
low  that  he  had  to  bend  his  head  to  look  out  of  it,  the  school- 
master could  see  a  rivulet  of  sunshine  streaming  through 
between  two  upright  grave-stones,  and  glorifying  the  long  grass 
of  a  neglected  mound  that  lay  close  to  the  wall  under  the  wintry 
drip  from  the  eaves ;  when  he  raised  his  head,  the  church  looked 
very  dark.  The  best  way  there  to  preach  the  Resurrection,  he 
thought,  would  be  to  contrast  the  sepulchral  gloom  of  the  church, 
its  dreary  psalms  and  drearier  sermons,  with  the  sunlight  on  the 
graves,  the  lark-filled  sky,  and  the  Avind  blowing  where  it  listed. 
But  although  the  minister  was  a  young  man  of  the  commonest 
order,  educated  to  the  church  that  he  might  eat  bread,  hence  a 
mere  willing  slave  to  the  beck  of  his  lord  and  master  the  patron, 
and  but  a  parrot  in  the  pulpit,  the  schoolmaster  not  only  en- 
deavored to  pour  his  feelings  and  desires  into  the  mold  of 
his  prayers,  but  listened  to  the  sermon  with  a  countenance  that 
revealed  no  distaste  for  the  weak  and  unsavory  broth  ladled 
out  to  him  to  nourish  his  soul  withal.  When,  however,  the  serv- 
ice— though  whose  purposes  the  affair  could  be  supposed  to 
serve  except  those  of  Mr.  Cairns  himself,  would  have  been  a 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  521 

curious  question — was  over,  he  did  breathe  a  sigh  of  relief; 
and  when  he  stepped  out  into  the  sun  and  wind  which  had 
been  shining  and  blowing  all  the  time  of  the  dreary  ceremony, 
he  wondered  whether  the  larks  might  not  have  had  the  best  of 
it  in  the  God-praising  that  had  been  going  on  for  two  slow- 
paced  '  hours.  Yet,  having  been  so  long  used  to  the  sort  of 
thing,  he  did  not  mind  it  half  so  much  as  his  friend  Malcolm, 
who  found  the  Sunday  observances  an  unspeakable  weariness 
to  both  flesh  and  spirit. 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  Malcolm  did  not  find  the 
said  observances  dreary,  for  he  observed  nothing  but  the  vision 
which  radiated  from  the  dusk  of  the  small  gallery  forming 
Lossie  pew,  directly  opposite  the  Norman  canopy  and  stone  cru- 
sader. Unconventional,  careless  girl  as  Lady  Florimel  had 
hitherto  shown  herself  to  him,  he  saw  her  sit  that  morning  like 
the  proudest  of  her  race,  alone,  and,  to  all  appearance,  unaware 
of  a  single  other  person's  being  in  the  church  besides  herself. 
She  manifested  no  interest  in  what  was  going  on,  nor  indeed 
felt  any — how  could  she  ? — never  parted  her  lips  to  sing ;  sat 
during  the  prayer;  and  throughout  the  sermon  seemed  to  Mal- 
colm not  once  to  move  her  eyes  from  the  carved  crusader. 
When  all  was  over,  she  still  sat  motionless — sat  until  the  last 
old  woman  had  hobbled  out.  Then  she  rose,  walked  slowly 
from  the  gloom  of  the  church,  flashed  into  the  glow  of  the 
churchyard,  gleamed  across  it  to  a  private  door  in  the  wall, 
which  a  servant  held  for  her,  and  vanished.  If,  a  moment 
after,  the  notes  of  a  merry  song  invaded  the  ears  of  those  who 
yet  lingered,  who  could  dare  suspect  that  proudly  sedate 
damsel  thus  suddenly  breaking  the  ice  of  her  public  behavior  ? 

For  a  mere  schoolgirl  she  had  certainly  done  the  lady's  part 
well.  What  she  wore  I  do  not  exactly  know;  nor  would  it 
perhaps  be  well  to  describe  what  might  seem  grotesque  to  such 
prejudiced  readers  as  have  no  judgment  beyond  the  fashions 
of  the  day.  But  I  will  not  let  pass  the  opportunity  of  remind- 
ing them  how  sadly  old-fashioned  we  of  the  present  hour  also 
look  in  the  eyes  of  those  equally  infallible  judges  who  have 


522  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

been  in  dread  procession  toward  us  ever  since  we  began  to 
be — our  posterity — judges  who  perhaps  will  doubt  with  a  smile 
whether  we  even  knew  what  love  was,  or  ever  had  a  dream  of 
the  grandeur  they  are  on  the  point  of  grasping.  But  at  least 
bethink  yourselves,  dear  posterity  ;  we  have  not  ceased  because 
you  have  begun. 

Out  of  the  church  the  blind  Duncan  strode  with  long,  con- 
fident strides.  He  had  no  staff  to  aid  him,  for  he  never  carried 
one  when  in  his  best  clothes ;  but  he  leaned  proudly  on  Mal- 
colm's arm,  if  one  who  walked  so  erect  could  be  said  to  lean. 
He  had  adorned  his  bonnet  the  autumn  before  with  a  sprig  of 
the  large  purple  heather,  but  every  bell  had  fallen  from  it, 
leaving  only  the  naked  spray,  pitiful  analogue  of  the  whole 
withered  exterior  of  which  it  formed  part.  His  sporran,  how- 
ever, hid  the  stained  front  of  his  kilt,  and  his  Sunday  coat  had 
been  new  within  ten  years — the  gift  of  certain  ladies  of  Port- 
lossie,  some  of  whom,  to  whose  lowland  eyes  the  kilt  was 
obnoxious,  would  have  added  a  pair  of  trousers,  had  not  Miss 
Horn  stoutly  opposed  them,  confident  that  Duncan  would 
regard  the  present  as  an  insult.  And  she  was  right ;  for  rather 
than  wear  anything  instead  of  the  philibeg,  Duncan  would 
have  plaited  himself  one  with  his  own  blind  fingers  out  of  an 
old  sack.  Indeed,  although  the  trews  were  never  at  any  time 
unknown  in  the  Highlands,  Duncan  had  always  regarded  them 
as  effeminate,  and  especially  in  his  lowland  exile  would  have 
looked  upon  the  wearing  of  them  as  a  disgrace  to  his  highland 
birth. 

"  Tat  wass  a  fery  coot  sairmon  to-day,  Malcolm,"  he  said,  as 
they  stepped  from  the  churchyard  upon  the  road. 

Malcolm,  knowing  well  whither  conversation  on  the  subject 
would  lead,  made  no  reply.  His  grandfather,  finding  him 
silent,  iterated  his  remark,  with  the  addition : 

"  Put  how  could  it  pe  a  paad  one,  you'll  pe  thinking,  my 
poy,  when  he'd  pe  hafing  such  a  text  to  keep  him  straight." 

Malcolm  continued  silent,  for  a  good  many  people  were  within 
hearing  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  see  amused  with  the  remarks 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "  MALCOLM"  523 

certain  to  follow  any  he  could  make.  But  Mr.  Graham,  who 
happened  to  be  walking  near ^  the  old  man  on  the  other  side, 
out  of  pure  politeness  made  a  partial  response. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  MacPhail,"  he  said,  "  it  was  a  grand  text." 

"  Yes,  and  it  wass'll  pe  a  cran'  sairmon,"  persisted  Duncan. 
" '  Fenchence  is  mine — I  will  repay.'  Ta  Lord  loves  fench- 
ence.  It's  a  fine  thing,  fenchence.  To  make  ta  wicked  know 
tat  tey'll  pe  peing  put  men !  Yes  ;  ta  Lord  will  slay  ta  wicked. 
Ta  Lord  will  gif  ta  honest  man  fenchence  upon  his  enemies. 
It  wass  a  cran'  sairmon  !  " 

"  Don't  you  think  vengeance  a  very  dreadful  thing,  Mr.  Mac- 
Phail ?  "  said  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Yes,  for  ta  von  tat'll  pe  in  ta  wrong — I  wish  ta  fenchence 
was  mine  ! "  he  added  with  a  loud  sigh. 

"  But  the  Lord  doesn't  think  any  of  us  fit  to  be  trusted  with 
it,  and  so  keeps  it  to  himself,  you  see." 

"  Yes ;  and  tat'll  pe  pecause  it'll  pe  too  coot  to  be  gifing  to 
another.  And  some  people  would  be  waik  of  heart,  and  be 
letting  teir  enemies  co." 

"  I  suspect  it's  for  the  opposite  reason,  Mr.  MacPhail :  we 
would  go  much  too  far,  making  no  allowances,  causing  the 
innocent  to  suffer  along  with  the  guilty,  neither  giving  fair 
play  nor  avoiding  cruelty — and  indeed " 

"  No  fear !  "  interrupted  Duncan,  eagerly — "  no  fear,  when  ta 
wrong  wass  as  larch  as  Morven  ! " 

In  the  sermon  there  had  not  been  one  word  as  to  St.  Paul's 
design  in  quoting  the  text.  It  had  been  but  a  theatrical  setting 
forth  of  the  vengeance  of  God  upon  sin,  illustrated  with  several 
common  tales  of  the  discovery  of  murder  by  strange  means — a 
sermon  after  Duncan's  own  heart ;  and  nothing  but  the  way  in 
which  he  now  snuffed  the  wind,  with  head  thrown  back  and 
nostrils  dilated,  could  have  given  an  adequate  idea  of  how 
much  he  enjoyed  the  recollection  of  it. 

Mr.  Graham  had  for  many  years  believed  that  he  must  have 
some  personal  wrongs  to  brood  over — wrongs,  probably,  to 
which  were  to  be  attributed  his  loneliness  and  exile ;  but  of  such 


524  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

Duncan   had  never  spoken,  uttering   no   maledictions   except 
against  the  real  or  imagined  foes  of  his  family. 

The  master  placed  so  little  value  on  any  possible  results  of 
mere  argument,  and  had  indeed  so  little  faith  in  any  words 
except  such  as  came  hot  from  the  heart,  that  he  said  no  more, 
but,  with  an  invitation  to  Malcolm  to  visit  him  in  the  evening, 
wished  them  good  day,  and  turned  in  at  his  own  door. 

On  Sundays,  Malcolm  was  always  more  or  less  annoyed  by 
the  obtrusive  presence  of  his  arms  and  legs,  accompanied  by  a 
vague  feeling  that,  at  any  moment,  and  no  warning  given,  they 
might,  with  some  insane  and  irrepressible  flourish,  break  the 
Sabbath  on  their  own  account,  and  degrade  him  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-townsmen,  who  seemed  all  silently  watching  how  he 
bore  the  restraints  of  the  holy  day.  It  must  be  conceded,  how- 
ever, that  the  discomfort  had  quite  as  much  to  do  with  his 
Sunday  clothes  as  with  the  Sabbath  day,  and  that  it  interfered 
but  little  with  an  altogether  peculiar  calm  which  appeared  to 
him  to  belong  in  its  own  right  to  the  Sunday,  whether  its  light 
flowed  in  the  sunny  cataracts  of  June,  or  oozed  through  the 
spongy  clouds  of  November. 

As  he  walked  again  to  the  Alton,  or  Old  Town,  in  the  even- 
ing, the  filmy  floats  of  white  in  the  lofty  blue,  the  droop  of  the 
long  dark  grass  by  the  side  of  the  short  brown  corn,  the  shadows 
pointing  like  all  lengthening  shadows  toward  the  quarter  of 
hope,  the  yellow  glory  filling  the  air  and  paling  the  green 
below,  the  unseen  larks  hanging  aloft — like  air-pitcher-plants 
that  overflowed  in  song — like  electric  jars  emptying  themselves 
of  the  sweet  thunder  of  bliss  in  the  flashing  of  wings  and  the 
trembling  of  melodious  throats ;  these  were  indeed  of  the  sum- 
mer— but  the  cup  of  rest  had  been  poured  out  upon  them  ;  the 
Sabbath  brooded  like  an  embodied  peace  over  the  earth,  and 
under  its  wings  they  grew  sevenfold  peaceful — with  a  peace 
that  might  be  felt,  like  the  hand  of  a  mother  pressed  upon  the 
half-sleeping  child.  The  rusted  iron  cross  on  the  eastern  gable 
of  the  old  church  stood  glowing  lusterless  in  the  westering  sun ; 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  525 

while  the  gilded  vane,  whose  business  was  the  wind,  creaked 
radiantly  this  way  and  that,  in  the  flaws  from  the  region  of 
the  sunset ;  its  shadow  flickered  soft  on  the  new  grave,  where 
the  grass  of  the  wounded  sod  was  drooping.  Again  seated  on 
a  neighboring  stone,  Malcolm  found  his  friend. 

"  See,"  said  the  schoolmaster  as  the  fisherman  sat  down  beside 
him,  "  how  the  shadow  from  one  grave  stretches  like  an  arm 
to  embrace  another !  In  this  light  the  churchyard  seems  the 
very  birthplace  of  shadows.  See  them  flowing  out  of  the  tombs 
as  from  fountains,  to  overflow  the  world !  Does  the  morning  or 
the  evening  light  suit  such  a  place  best,  Malcolm  ?  " 

The  pupil  thought  for  a  while. 

"  The  evenin'  licht,  sir,"  he  answered  at  length ;  "  for  ye  see 
the  sun's  deein'  like,  an'  deith's  like  a  fa'in'  asleep,  an'  the 
grave's  the  bed,  an'  the  sod's  the  bed-claes,  an'  there's  a  long 
nicht  to  the  fore." 

"  Are  ye  sure  o'  that,  Malcolm  ?  " 

"  It's  the  wye  folk  thinks  an'  says  aboot  it,  sir." 

"  Or  maybe  doesna  think,  an'  only  says  ?  " 

"  Maybe,  sir ;  I  dinna  ken." 

"  Come  here,  Malcolm,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  and  took  him  by 
the  arm,  and  led  him  towards  the  east  end  of  the  church,  where 
a  few  tombstones  were  crowded  against  the  wall,  as  if  they 
would  press  close  to  a  place  they  might  not  enter. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  flat  stone,  where  every 
hollow  letter  was  shown  in  high  relief  by  the  growth  in  it  of  a 
lovely  moss.  The  rest  of  the  stone  was  rich  in  gray  and  green 
and  brown  lichens,  but  only  in  the  letters  grew  the  bright  moss : 
the  inscription  stood  as  it  were  in  the  hand  of  Nature  herself — 
"  He  is  not  here  ;  he  is  risen." 

While  Malcolm  gazed,  try  ing -to  think  what  his  master  would 
have  him  think,  the  latter  resumed. 

"  If  he  is  risen — if  the  sun  is  up,  Malcolm — then  the  morning 
and  not  the  evening  is  the  season  for  the  place  of  tombs ;  the 
morning  when  the  shadows  are  shortening  and  separating,  not 
the  evening  when  they  are  growing  all  into  one.  I  used  to  love 


526  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

the  churchyard  best  in  the  evening,  when  the  past  was  more  to 
me  than  the  future ;  now  I  visit  it  almost  every  bright  summer 
morning,  and  only  occasionally  at  night." 

"  But,  sir,  isna  deith  a  dreidfu'  thing  ?  "  said  Malcolm. 

"  That  depends  on  whether  a  man  regards  it  as  his  fate,  or  as 
the  will  of  a  perfect  God.  Its  obscurity  is  its  dread ;  but  if  God 
be  light,  then  death  itself  must  be  full  of  splendor — a  splendor 
probably  too  keen  for  our  eyes  to  receive." 

"  But  there's  the  deein'  itsel' ;  isna  that  fearsome  ?  It's  that 
I  wad  be  fleyed  at." 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be.  It's  the  want  of  a  God  that 
makes  it  dreadful,  and  you  will  be  greatly  to  blame,  Malcolm, 
if  you  haven't  found  your  God  by  the  time  you  have  to 
die." 

The  next  morning  rose  as  lovely  as  if  the  mantle  of  the 
departing  Resurrection-day  had  fallen  upon  it.  Malcolm  rose 
with  it,  hastened  to  his  boat,  and  pulled  out  into  the  bay  for  an 
hour  or  two's  fishing.  Nearly  opposite  the  great  conglomerate 
rock  at  the  western  end  of  the  dune,  called  the  Bored  Craig 
(Perforated  Orag)  because  of  a  large  hole  that  went  right  through 
it,  he  began  to  draw  in  his  line.  Glancing  shoreward  as  he 
leaned  over  the  gunwale,  he  spied  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  near 
the  opening,  a  figure  in  white,  seated,  with  bowed  head.  It  was 
of  course  the  mysterious  lady,  whom  he  had  twice  before  seen 
thereabout  at  this  unlikely,  if  not  untimely  hour ;  but  with  yes- 
terday fresh  in  his  mind,  how  could  he  fail  to  see  in  her  an 
angel  of  the  resurrection  waiting  at  the  sepulcher  to  tell  the 
glad  news  that  the  Lord  was  risen  ? 

Many  were  the  glances  he  cast  shoreward  as  he  re-baited  his 
line,  and,  having  thrown  it  again  into  the  water,  sat  waiting 
until  it  should  be  time  to  fire  the  swivel.  Still  the  lady  sat  on, 
in  her  whiteness  a  creature  of  the  dawn,  without  even  lifting 
her  head.  At  length,  having  added  a  few  more  fishes  to  the 
little  heap  in  the  bottom  of  his  boat,  and  finding  his  watch  bear 
witness  that  the  hour  was  at  hand,  he  seated  himself  on  his 


EXTRACTS  FHOM  "MALCOLM"  527 

thwart,  and  rowed  lustily  to  the  shore,  his  bosom  filled  with  the 
hope  of  yet  another  sight  of  the  lovely  face,  and  another  hear- 
ing of  the  sweet  English  voice  and  speech.  But  the  very  first 
time  he  turned  his  head  to  look,  he  saw  but  the  sloping  foot  of 
the  rock  sink  bare  into  the  shore.  No  white-robed  angel  sat 
at  the  gate  of  the  resurrection ;  no  moving  thing  was  visible  on 
the  far-vacant  sands.  When  he  reached  the  top  of  the  dune, 
there  was  no  living  creature  beyond  but  a  few  sheep  feeding 
on  the  thin  grass.  He  fired  the  gun,  rowed  back  to  the  Seaton, 
ate  his  breakfast,  and  set  out  to  carry  the  best  of  his  fish  to  the 
House.  .  .  . 

The  garden  was  a  curious,  old-fashioned  place  with  high 
hedges,  and  close  alleys  of  trees,  where  two  might  have  wan- 
dered long  without  meeting,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he 
found  any  hint  of  the  presence  of  the  marquis.  At  length,  how- 
ever, he  heard  voices,  and  following  the  sound,  walked  along 
one  of  the  alleys  till  he  came  to  a  little  arbor,  where  he  discov- 
ered the  marquis  seated,  and,  to  his  surprise,  the  white-robed 
lady  of  the  sands  beside  him.  A  great  deer-hound  at  his  mas- 
ter's feet  was  bristling  his  mane,  and  baring  his  eye-teeth  with 
a  growl,  but  the  girl  had  a  hold  of  his  collar. 

""Who  are  you  f  "  asked  the  marquis  rather  gruffly,  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  him  before. 

"  I  beg  yer  lordship's  pardon,"  said  Malcolm,  "  but  they  telled 
me  yer  lordship  wantit  to  see  me,  and  sent  me  to  the  flooer- 
garden.  Will  I  gang,  or  will  I  bide  ?  " 

The  marquis  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  frowningly,  and 
made  no  reply.  But  the  frown  gradually  relaxed  before  Mal- 
colm's modest  but  unflinching  gaze,  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
slowly  usurped  its  place.  He  still  kept  silent,  however. 

"  Am  I  to  gang  or  bide,  my  lord  ?  "  repeated  Malcolm. 

"  Can't  you  wait  for  an  answer  ?  " 

"  As  lang's  yer  lordship  likes.  Will  I  gang  an'  walk  aboot, 
mem — my  leddy,  till  his  lordship's  made  up  his  min'  ?  Wad 
that  please  him,  duv  ye  think  ?  "  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  seeks  advice. 


528  QEORGE  MACDONALD 

But  the  girl  only  smiled,  and  the  marquis  said,  "  Go  to  the 
devil." 

"  I  maun  luik  to  yer  lordship  for  the  necessar'  directions," 
rejoined  Malcolm. 

"  Your  tongue's  long  enough  to  inquire  as  you  go,"  said  the 
marquis. 

A  reply  in  the  same  strain  rushed  to  Malcolm's  lips,  but  he 
checked  himself  in  time,  and  stood  silent,  with  his  bonnet  in 
his  hand,  fronting  the  two.  The  marquis  sat  gazing  as  if  he 
had  nothing  to  say  to  him,  but  after  a  few  moments  the  lady 
spoke — not  to  Malcolm,  however. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  in  boating  here,  papa  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Not  more,  I  daresay,  than  there  ought  to  be,"  replied  the 
marquis  listlessly.  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  should  so  like  a  row !  I  want  to  see  how  the 
shore  looks  to  the  mermaids." 

"  Well,  I  will  take  you  some  day,  if  we  can  find  a  proper 
boat." 

"  Is  yours  a  proper  boat  ? "  she  asked,  turning  to  Malcolm 
with  a  sparkle  of  fun  in  her  eyes. 

" That  depen's  on  my  lord's  definition  o' proper" 

11  Definition !  "  repeated  the  marquis. 

"  Is  't  ower  lang  a  word,  my  lord  ?  "  asked  Malcolm. 

The  marquis  only  smiled. 

"  I  ken  what  ye  mean.  It's  a  strange  word  in  a  fisher-lad's 
mou',  ye  think.  But  what  for  should  na  a  fisher-lad  hae  a 
smatterin'  o'  loagic,  my  lord  ?  For  Greek  or  Laitin  there's  but 
sma'  opportunity  o'  exerceese  in  oor  pairts ;  but  for  loagic,  a 
fisher-body  may  aye  haud  his  han'  in  i'  that.  He  can  aye  be 
tryin'  't  upo'  's  wife,  or  's  guid-mother,  or  upo'  's  boat,  or  upo' 
the  fish  whan  they  winna  tak.  Loagic  wad  save  a  heap  o' 
cursin'  an'  ill  words — amo'  the  fisher-fowk,  I  mean,  my 
lord." 

"  Have  you  been  to  college  ?  " 

"  Na,  my  lord — the  mair's  the  pity !  But  I've  been  to  the 
school  sin'  ever  I  can  min'." 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  529 

"  Do  they  teach  logic  there  ?  " 

"  A  kin'  o'  't.  Mr.  Graham  sets  us  to  try  oor  han'  whiles — 
jist  to  mak  's  a  bit  gleg  (quick  and  keen),  ye  ken." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  go  to  school  still  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  gang  reg'lar ;  but  I  gang  as  aften  as  Mr.  Graham 
wants  me  to  help  him,  an'  I  aye  gether  something." 

"  So  it's  schoolmaster  you  are  as  well  as  fisherman  ?  Two 
strings  to  your  bow  ! — Who  pays  you  for  teaching  ?  " 

"  Ow !  naebody.     Wha  wad  pay  me  for  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  schoolmaster." 

"  Na,  but  that  wad  be  an  affront,  my  lord  ! " 

"  How  can  you  afford  the  time  for  nothing  ?  " 

"The  time  comes  to  little,  compairt  wi'  what  Mr.  Graham 
gies  me  i'  the  lang  forenichts — i'  the  winter  time,  ye  ken,  my 
lord,  whan  the  sea's  whiles  ower  contumahcious  to  be  meddlet 
muckle  wi'." 

"  But  you  have  to  support  your  grandfather." 

"  My  gran'father  wad  be  ill-pleased  to  hear  ye  say  't,  my  lord. 
He's  terrible  independent ;  an'  what  wi'  his  pipes,  an'  his  lamps, 
an'  his  shop,  he  could  keep's  baith.  It's  no  muckle  the  likes  o' 
us  wants.  He  winna  lat  me  gang  far  to  the  fishin',  so  that  I 
hae  the  mair  time  to  read  an'  gang  to  Mr.  Graham." 

As  the  youth  spoke,  the  marquis  eyed  him  with  apparently 
growing  interest. 

"  But  you  haven't  told  me  whether  your  boat  is  a  proper 
one,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Proper  eneuch,  mem,  for  what's  required  o'  her.  She  taks 
guid  fish." 

"  But  is  it  a  proper  boat  for  me  to  have  a  row  in  ?  " 

"  No  wi'  that  goon  on,  mem,  as  I  telled  ye  afore." 

"  The  water  won't  get  in,  will  it?  " 

"  No  more  than's  easy  gotten  oot  again." 

"  Do  you  ever  put  up  a  sail  ?  " 

"  Whiles — a  wee  bit  o'  a  lug-sail." 

"  Nonsense,  Flory  !  "  said  the  marquis.     "  I'll  see  about  it." 
Then,  turning  to  Malcolm  : 
s.  M.— 34 


530  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"You  may  go,"  he  said.  "When  I  want  yon  I  will  send  for 
you." 

Malcolm  thought  with  himself  that  he  had  sent  for  him  this 
time  before  he  wanted  him  ;  but  he  made  his  bow,  and  departed 
— not  without  disappointment,  for  he  had  expected  the  marquis 
to  say  something  about  his  grandfather  going  to  the  house  with 
his  pipes,  a  request  he  would  fain  have  carried  to  the  old  man 
to  gladden  his  heart  withal. 

Lord  Lossie  had  been  one  of  the  boon  companions  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales — considerably  higher  in  type,  it  is  true,  yet 
low  enough  to  accept  usage  for  law,  and  measure  his  obligation 
by  the  custom  of  his  peers.  Duty  merely  amounted  to  what  was 
expected  of  him,  and  honor,  the  flitting  shadow  of  the  garment 
of  truth,  was  his  sole  divinity.  Still  he  had  a  heart,  and  it 
would  speak — so  long  at  least  as  the  object  affecting  it  was 
present.  But  alas !  it  had  no  memory.  Like  the  unjust  judge, 
he  might  redress  a  wrong  that  cried  to  him,  but  out  of  sight 
and  hearing  it  had  for  him  no  existence.  To  a  man  he  would 
not  have  told  a  deliberate  lie — except,  indeed,  a  woman  was  in 
the  case ;  but  to  women  he  had  lied  enough  to  sink  the  whole  ship 
of  fools.  Nevertheless,  had  the  accusing  angel  himself  called  him 
a  liar,  he  would  have  instantly  offered  him  his  choice  of  weapons. 

There  was  in  him  by  nature,  however,  a  certain  generosity 
which  all  the  vice  he  had  shared  in  had  not  quenched.  Over- 
bearing, he  was  not  yet  too  overbearing  to  appreciate  a  manly 
carriage,  and  had  been  pleased  with  what  some  would  have 
considered  the  boorishness  of  Malcolm's  behavior — such  not 
perceiving  that  it  had  the  same  source  as  the  true  aristocratic 
bearing — namely,  a  certain  unselfish  confidence  which  is  the 
mother  of  dignity. 

He  had,  of  course,  been  a  spendthrift — and  so  much  the 
better,  being  otherwise  what  he  was ;  for  a  cautious  and  frugal 
voluptuary  is  about  the  lowest  style  of  man.  Hence  he  had 
never  been  out  of  difficulties,  and  when,  a  year  or  so  agone,  he 
succeeded  to  his  brother's  marquisate,  he  was,  notwithstanding 
his  enlarged  income,  far  too  much  involved  to  hope  any  imme- 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  531 

diate  rescue  from  them.  His  new  property,  however,  would 
afford  him  a  refuge  from  troublesome  creditors ;  there  he  might 
also  avoid  expenditure  for  a  season,  and  perhaps  rally  the 
forces  of  a  dissolute  life ;  the  place  was  not  new  to  him,  having, 
some  twenty  years  before,  spent  nearly  twelve  months  there,  of 
which  time  the  recollections  were  not  altogether  unpleasant. 
Weighing  all  these  things  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  and  here 
he  was  at  Lossie  House. 

The  marquis  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  more  worn  than 
his  years  would  account  for,  yet  younger  than  his  years  in 
expression,  for  his  conscience  had  never  bitten  him  very  deep. 
He  was  middle-sized,  broad-shouldered  but  rather  thin,  with 
fine  features  of  the  aquiline  Greek  type,  light-blue  hazy  eyes, 
and  fair  hair,  slightly  curling  and  streaked  with  gray.  His 
manners  were  those  of  one  polite  for  his  own  sake.  To  his 
remote  inferiors  he  was  kind — would  even  encourage  them  to 
liberties,  but  might  in  turn  take  greater  with  them  than  they 
might  find  agreeable.  He  was  fond  of  animals — would  sit  for 
an  hour  stroking  the  head  of  Demon,  his  great  Irish  deerhound ; 
but  at  other  times  would  tease  him  to  a  wrath  which  touched 
the  verge  of  dangerous.  He  was  fond  of  practical  jokes,  and 
would  not  hesitate  to  indulge  himself  even  in  such  as  were 
incompatible  with  any  genuine  refinement :  the  sort  had  been 
in  vogue  in  his  merrier  days,  and  Lord  Lossie  had  ever  been  one 
of  the  most  fertile  in  inventing  and  loudest  in  enjoying  them. 
For  the  rest,  if  he  was  easily  enraged,  he  was  readily  appeased  ; 
could  drink  a  great  deal,  but  was  no  drunkard ;  and  held  as  his 
creed  that  a  God  had  probably  made  the  world  and  set  it  going, 
but  that  he  did  not  care  a  brass  farthing,  as  he  phrased  it,  how 
it  went  on,  or  what  such  an  insignificant  being  as  a  man  did  or 
left  undone  in  it.  Perhaps  he  might  amuse  himself  with  it,  he 
said,  but  he  doubted  it.  As  to  men,  he  believed  every  man 
loved  himself  supremely,  and  therefore  was  in  natural  warfare 
with  every  other  man.  Concerning  women,  he  professed  him- 
self unable  to  give  a  definite  utterance  of  any  sort — and  yet,  he 
would  add,  he  had  had  opportunities. 


582  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

The  mother  of  Florimel  had  died  when  she  was  a  mere  child, 
and  from  that  time  she  had  been  at  school  until  her  father 
brought  her  away  to  share  his  fresh  honors.  She  knew  little; 
that  little  was  not  correct,  and,  had  it  been,  would  have  yet 
been  of  small  value.  At  school  she  had  been  under  many  laws, 
and  had  felt  their  slavery ;  she  was  now  in  the  third  heaven  of 
delight  with  her  liberty.  But  the  worst  of  foolish  laws  is,  that 
when  the  insurgent  spirit  casts  them  off,  it  is  but  too  ready 
to  cast  away  with  them  the  genial  self-restraint  which  these 
fretting  trammels  have  smothered  beneath  them. 

Her  father  regarded  her  as  a  child  of  whom  it  was  enough  to 
require  that  she  should  keep  out  of  mischief.  He  said  to  him- 
self now  and  then  that  he  must  find  a  governess  for  her;  but  as 
yet  he  had  not  begun  to  look  for  one.  Meantime  he  neither 
exercised  the  needful  authority  over  her,  nor  treated  her  as  a 
companion.  His  was  a  shallow  nature,  never  very  pleasantly 
conscious  of  itself  except  in  the  whirl  of  excitement  and  the 
glitter  of  crossing  lights ;  with  a  lovely  daughter  by  his  side,  he 
neither  sought  to  search  into  her  being,  nor  to  aid  its  unfold- 
ing, but  sat  brooding  over  past  pleasures,  or  fancying  others  yet 
in  store  for  him — lost  in  the  dull  flow  of  life  along  the  lazy 
reach  to  whose  mire  its  once  tumultuous  torrent  had  now 
descended.  But,  indeed,  what  could  such  a  man  have  done  for 
the  education  of  a  young  girl?  How  many  of  the  qualities 
he  understood  and  enjoyed  in  women  could  he  desire  to  see 
developed  in  his  daughter?  There  was  yet  enough  of  the 
father  in  him  to  expect  those  qualities  in  her  to  which  in  other 
women  he  had  been  an  insidious  foe;  but  had  he  not  done 
what  in  him  lay  to  destroy  his  right  of  claiming  such  from 
her? 

So  Lady  Florimel  was  running  wild,  and  enjoying  it.  As 
long  as  she  made  her  appearance  at  meals,  and  looked  happy, 
her  father  would  give  himself  no  trouble  about  her.  How  he 
himself  managed  to  live  in  those  first  days  without  company — 
what  he  thought  about  or  speculated  upon,  it  were  hard  to  say. 
All  he  could  be  said  to  do  was  to  ride  here  and  there  over  the 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  533 

estate  with  his  steward,  Mr.  Crathie,  knowing  little  and  caring 
less  about  farming,  or  crops,  or  cattle.  He  had  by  this  time, 
however,  invited  a  few  friends  to  visit  him,  and  expected  their 
arrival  before  long. 

"  How  do  you  like  this  dull  life,  Flory  ?  "  he  said,  as  they 
walked  up  the  garden  to  breakfast. 

"  Dull,  papa !  "  she  returned.  "  You  never  were  at  a  girls' 
school,  or  you  wouldn't  call  this  dull.  It  is  the  merriest  life  in 
the  world.  To  go  where  you  like,  and  have  miles  of  room ! 
And  such  room !  It's  the  loveliest  place  in  the  world,  papa !  " 

He  smiled  a  small,  satisfied  smile,  and,  stooping,  stroked  his 
Demon. 

The  home  season  of  the  herring-fishery  was  to  commence  a 
few  days  after  the  occurrences  last  recorded.  The  boats  had  all 
returned  from  other  stations,  and  the  little  harbor  was  one  crowd 
of  stumpy  masts,  each  with  its  halyard,  the  sole  cordage  visible, 
rove  through  the  top  of  it,  for  the  hoisting  of  a  lug  sail,  tanned 
to  a  rich  red  brown.  From  this  underwood  towered  aloft  the 
masts  of  a  coasting  schooner,  discharging  its  load  of  coal  at  the 
little  quay.  Other  boats  lay  drawn  up  on  the  beach  in  front  of 
the  Seaton,  and  beyond  it  on  the  other  side  of  the  burn.  Meri 
and  women  were  busy  with  the  brown  nets,  laying  them  out  on 
the  short  grass  of  the  shore,  mending  them  with  netting-needles 
like  small  shuttles,  carrying  huge  burdens  of  them  on  their 
shoulders  in  the  hot  sunlight;  others  were  mending,  calking, 
or  tarring  their  boats,  and  looking  to  their  various  fittings.  All 
was  preparation  for  the  new  venture  in  their  own  waters,  and 
everything  went  merrily  and  hopefully.  Wives  who  had  not 
accompanied  their  husbands  now  had  them  home  again,  and 
their  anxieties  would  henceforth  endure  but  for  a  night— joy 
would  come  with  the  red  sails  in  the  morning ;  lovers  were  once 
more  together,  the  one  great  dread  broken  into  a  hundred  little 
questioning  fears ;  mothers  had  their  sons  again,  to  watch  with 
loving  eyes  as  they  swung  their  slow  limbs  at  their  labor,  or  in 
the  evenings  sauntered  about,  hands  in  pockets,  pipe  in  mouth, 


534  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

and  blue  bonnet  cast  carelessly  on  the  head ;  it  was  almost  a 
single  family,  bound  together  by  a  network  of  intermarriages  so 
intricate  as  to  render  it  impossible  for  any  one  who  did  not 
belong  to  the  community  to  follow  the  threads  or  read  the  design 
of  the  social  tracery. 

And  while  the  Seaton  swarmed  with  "  the  goings  on  of  life," 
the  town  of  Portlossie  lay  above  it  still  as  a  country  hamlet,  with 
more  odors  than  people  about ;  of  people  it  was  seldom,  indeed, 
that  three  were  to  be  spied  at  once  in  the  wide  street,  while  of 
odors  you  would  always  encounter  a  smell  of  leather  from  the 
saddler's  shop,  and  a  mingled  message  of  bacon  and  cheese  from 
the  very  general  dealer's — in  whose  window  hung  what  seemed 
three  hams,  and  only  he  who  looked  twice  would  discover  that 
the  middle  object  was  no  ham,  but  a  violin — while  at  every 
corner  lurked  a  scent  of  gillyflowers  and  southernwood.  Idly 
supreme,  Portlossie,  thie  upper,  looked  down  in  condescension, 
that  is  in  half-concealed  contempt,  on  the  ant-heap  below  it. 

The  evening  arrived  on  which  the  greater  part  of  the  boats 
was  to  put  off  for  the  first  assay.  Malcolm  would  have  made 
one  in  the  little  fleet,  for  he  belonged  to  his  friend  Joseph  Mair's 
crew,  had  it  not  been  found  impossible  to  get  the  new  boat 
ready  before  the  following  evening ;  whence,  for  this  once  more, 
he  was  still  his  own  master,  with  one  more  chance  of  a  pleasure 
for  which  he  had  been  on  the  watch  ever  since  Lady  Florimel 
had  spoken  of  having  a  row  in  his  boat.  True,  it  was  not  often 
she  appeared  on  the  shore  in  the  evening ;  nevertheless  he  kept 
watching  the  dune  with  his  keen  eyes,  for  he  had  hinted  to  Mrs. 
Courthope  that  perhaps  her  young  lady  would  like  to  see  the 
boats  go  out. 

Although  it  was  the  fiftieth  time  his  eyes  had  swept  the  links 
in  vague  hope,  he  could  hardly  believe  their  testimony  when 
now  at  length  he  spied  a  form,  which  could  only  be  hers,  look- 
ing seaward  from  the  slope,  as  still  as  a  sphinx  on  Egyptian 
sands. 

He  sauntered  slowly  towards  her  by  the  landward  side  of  the 
dune,  gathering  on  his  way  a  handful  of  the  reddest  daisies  he 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  535 

could  find  ;  then,  ascending  the  sand-hill,  approached  her  along 
the  top. 

"  Saw  ye  ever  sic  gowans  in  yer  life,  my  leddy  ?  "  he  said, 
holding  out  his  posy. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  them  ?  "  she  returned. 

"  Ow  ay,  my  leddy — daisies  ye  ca'  them.  I  dinna  ken  but 
yours  is  the  bonnier  name  o'  the  twa — gien  it  be  what  Mr. 
Graham  tells  me  the  auld  poet  Chaucer  maks  o'  V 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Ow,  jist  the  een  o'  the  day — the  day's  eyes,  ye  ken.  They're 
sma'  een  for  sic  a  great  face,  but  syne  there's  a  lot  o'  them  to 
mak  up  for  that.  They've  begun  to  close  a'ready,  but  the  mair 
they  close  the  bonnier  they  luik,  wi'  their  bits  o'  screwed-up 
mooies  (little  mouths).  But  saw  ye  ever  sic  reid  anes,  or  ony  sic 
a  size,  my  leddy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  did.  What  is  the  reason  they  are  so 
large  and  red?" 

"  I  dinna  ken.  There  canna  be  muckle  nourishment  in  sic 
a  thin  soil,  but  there  maun  be  something  that  agrees  wi'  them. 
It's  the  same  a'  roon'  aboot  here." 

Lady  Florimel  sat  looking  at  the  daisies,  and  Malcolm  stood 
a  few  yards  off,  watching  for  the  first  of  the  red  sails,  which 
must  soon  show  themselves,  creeping  out  on  the  'ebb  tide.  Nor 
had  he  waited  long  before  a  boat  appeared,  then  another  and 
another — six  huge  oars,  ponderous  to  toil  withal,  urging  each 
from  the  shelter  of  the  harbor  out  into  the  wide  weltering  plain. 
The  fishing-boat  of  that  time  was  not  decked  as  now,  and  each, 
with  every  lift  of  its  bows,  revealed  to  their  eyes  a  gaping  hol- 
low, ready,  if  a  towering  billow  should  break  above  it,  to  be 
filled  with  sudden  death.  One  by  one  the  whole  fleet  crept 
out,  and  ever  as  they  gained  the  breeze,  up  went  the  red  sails, 
and  filled  :  aside  leaned  every  boat  from  the  wind,  and  went 
dancing  away  over  the  frolicking  billows  towards  the  sunset, 
its  sails,  deep-dyed  in  oak-bark,  shining  redder  and  redder  in 
the  growing  redness  of  the  sinking  sun. 

Nor  did  Portlossie  alone  send  out  her  boats,  like  huge  sea- 


536  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

birds  warring  on  the  live  treasures  of  the  deep ;  from  beyond 
the  headlands  east  and  west,  out  they  glided  on  slow  red  wing 
— from  Scaurnose,  from  Sandend,  from  Clamrock,  from  the  vil- 
lages all  along  the  coast — spreading  as  they  came,  each  to  its 
work  apart  through  all  the  laborious  night,  to  rejoin  its  fellows 
only  as  home  drew  them  back  in  the  clear  gray  morning,  laden 
and  slow  with  the  harvest  of  the  stars.  But  the  night  lay  be- 
tween, into  which  they  were  sailing  over  waters  of  heaving 
green  that  forever  kept  tossing  up  roses — a  night  whose  cur- 
tain was  a  horizon  built  up  of  steady  blue,  but  gorgeous  with 
passing  purple  and  crimson,  and  flashing  with  molten  gold. 

Malcolm  was  not  one  of  those  to  whom  the  sea  is  but  a  pond 
for  fish,  and  the  sky  a  storehouse  of  wind  and  rain,  sunshine 
and  snow ;  he  stood  for  a  moment  gazing,  lost  in  pleasure.  Then 
he  turned  to  Lady  Florimel ;  she  had  thrown  her  daisies  on  the 
sand,  appeared  to  be  deep  in  her  book,  and  certainly  caught 
nothing  of  the  splendor  before  her  beyond  the  red  light  on  her 
next  page. 

"  Saw  ye  ever  a  bonnier  sicht,  my  leddy  ?  "  said  Malcolm. 

She  looked  up,  and  saw,  and  gazed  in  silence.  Her  nature 
was  full  of  poetic  possibilities ;  and  now  a  formless  thought 
foreshadowed  itself  in  a  feeling  she  did  not  understand.  Why 
should  such  a  "sight  as  this  make  her  feel  sad  ?  The  vital  con- 
nection between  joy  and  effort  had  begun  from  afar  to  reveal 
itself  with  the  question  she  now  uttered. 

"  What  is  it  all  for  ?  "  she  asked  dreamily,  her  eyes  gazing 
out  on  the  calm  ecstasy  of  color,  which  seemed  to  have  broken 
the  bonds  of  law  and  ushered  in  a  new  chaos,  fit  matrix  of 
new  heavens  and  new  earth. 

"  To  catch  herrin',"  answered  Malcolm,  ignorant  of  the  mood 
that  prompted  the  question,  and  hence  mistaking  its  purport. 

But  a  falling  doubt  had  troubled  the  waters  of  her  soul,  and 
through  the  ripple  she  could  descry  it  settling  into  form.  She 
was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  she  resumed,  "  why  it  looks  as  if  some 
great  thing  were  going  on.  Why  is  all  this  pomp  and  show  ? 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  537 

Something  ought  to  be  at  hand.  All  I  see  is  the  catching  of  a 
few  miserable  fish !  If  it  were  the  eve  of  a  glorious  battle,  now, 
I  could  understand  it — if  those  were  the  little  English  boats 
rushing  to  attack  the  Spanish  Armada,  for  instance.  But  they 
are  only  gone  to  catch  fish.  Or  if  they  were  setting  out  to  dis- 
cover the  Isles  of  the  West,  the  country  beyond  the  sunset ! — 
but  this  jars." 

"  I  canna  answer  ye  a'  at  ance,  my  leddy,"  said  Malcolm ;  "  I 
maun  tak  time  to  think  aboot  it.  But  I  ken  brawly  what  ye 
mean." 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  withdrew,  and,  descending  the  mound, 
walked  away  beyond  the  bored  craig,  regardless  now  of  the  far- 
lessening  sails  and  the  sinking  sun.  The  motes  of  the  twilight 
were  multiplying  fast  as  he  returned  along  the  shore  side  of 
the  dune,  but  Lady  Florimel  had  vanished  from  its  crest.  He 
ran  to  the  top ;  thence,  in  the  dim  of  the  twilight,  he  saw  her 
slow  retreating  form,  phantom-like,  almost  at  the  grated  door 
of  the  tunnel,  which,  like  that  of  a  tomb,  appeared  ready  to 
draw  her  in,  and  yield  her  no  more. 

"  My  leddy,  my  leddy,"  he  cried,  "  winna  ye  bide  for  't  ?  " 

He  went  bounding  after  her  like  a  deer.  She  heard  him  call, 
and  stood  holding  the  door  half  open. 

"  It's  the  battle  o'  Armageddon,  my  leddy,"  he  cried,  as  he 
came  within  hearing  distance. 

"  The  battle  of  what  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  bewildered.  "  I  really 
can't  understand  your  savage  Scotch." 

"  Hoot,  my  leddy !  the  battle  o'  Armageddon's  no  ane  o'  the 
Scots  battles ;  it's  the  battle  atween  the  richt  and  the  wrang,  'at 
ye  read  aboot  i'  the  buik  o'  the  Revelations." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  returned  Lady 
Florimel  in  dismay,  beginning  to  fear  that  her  squire  was  los- 
ing his  senses. 

"  It's  jist  what  ye  was  say  in',  my  leddy ;  sic  a  pomp  as  yon 
bude  to  hing  abune  a  gran'  battle  some  gait  or  ither." 

"  What  has  the  catching  of  fish  to  do  with  a  battle  in  the 
Revelations  ?  "  said  the  girl  moving  a  little  within  the  door. 


538  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"  Weel,  my  leddy,  gien  I  took  in  han'  to  set  it  furth  to  ye,  I 
wad  hae  to  tell  ye  a'  that  Mr.  Graham  has  been  learnin'  me 
sin'  ever  I  can  min'.  He  sa^s  'at  the  whole  economy  o'  natur 
is  fashiont  unco  like  that  o'  the  kingdom  o'  haven :  its  jist  a 
gradation  o'  services,  an'  the  highest  en'  o'  ony  animal  is  to 
contreebute  to  the  life  o'  ane  higher  than  itsel' ;  sae  that  it's  the 
gran'  preevilege  o'  the  fish  we  tak,  to  be  aten  by  human  bein's, 
an'  uphaud  what's  abune  them." 

"  That's  a  poor  consolation  to  the  fish,"  said  Lady  Florimel. 

"  Hoo  ken  ye  that,  my  leddy  ?  Ye  can  tell  nearhan'  as  little 
aboot  the  hert  o'  a  herrin' — sic  as  it  has — as  the  herrin'  can  tell 
aboot  yer  ain,  whilk,  I'm  thinkin',  maun  be  o'  the  largest  size." 

"  How  should  you  know  anything  about  my  heart,  pray  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  more  amusement  than  offense. 

"  Jist  by  my  ain,"  answered  Malcolm. 

Lady  Florimel  began  to  fear  she  must  have  allowed  the  fisher 
lad  more  liberty  than  was  proper,  seeing  he  dared  avow  that 
he  knew  the  heart  of  a  lady  of  her  position  by  his  own.  But 
indeed  Malcolm  was  wrong,  for  in  the  scale  of  hearts,  Lady 
Florimel's  was  far  below  his.  She  stepped  quite  within  the 
door,  and  was  on  the  point  of  shutting  it,  but  something  about 
the  youth  restrained  her,  exciting  at  least  her  curiosity ;  his 
eyes  glowed  with  a  deep,  quiet  light,  and  his  face,  even  grand 
at  the  moment,  had  a  greater  influence  upon  her  than  she 
knew.  Instead,  therefore,  of  interposing  the  door  between  them, 
she  only  kept  it  poised,  ready  to  fall-to  the  moment  the  sanity 
of  the  youth  should  become  a  hair's-breadth  more  doubtful 
than  she  already  considered  it. 

"  It's  a'  pairt  o'  ae  thing,  my  leddy,"  Malcolm  resumed. 
"  The  herrin'  's  like  the  fowk'  at  cairries  the  mate  an'  the 
pooder  an'  sic  like  for  them  'at  does  the  fechtin'.  The  hert  o' 
the  leevin'  man's  the  place  whaur  the  battle's  foucht,  an'  it's  aye 
gaein'  on  an'  on  there  atween  God  an'  Sawtan;  an'  the  fish 
they  haud  fowk  up  till  't — 

" Do  you  mean  that  the  herrings  help  you  to  fight  for  God?" 
said  Lady  Florimel  with  a  superior  smile. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  539 

"Aither  for  God  or  for  the  deevil,  my  leddy — that  depen's 
upo'  the  fowk  themsel's.  I  say  it  hauds  them  up  to  fecht,  an' 
the  tiling  maun  be  fouchten  oot.  Fowk  to  fecht  maun  live,  an' 
the  herrin'  hauds  the  life  i'  them,  an'  sae  the  catchin'  o'  the  her- 
rin'  comes  in  to  be  a  pairt  o'  the  battle." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  more  sensible  to  say  that  the  battle  is 
between  the  fishermen  and  the  sea,  for  the  sake  of  their  wives 
and  children  ?  "  suggested  Lady  Florimel  supremely. 

"  Na,  my  leddy,  it  wadna  be  half  sae  sensible,  for  it  wadna 
justifee  the  grandur  that  hings  over  the  fecht.  The  battle  wi' 
the  sea  's  no  sae  muckle  o'  an  affair.  An',  'deed,  gien  it  warna 
that  the  wives  an'  the  verra  weans  hae  themsel's  to  fecht  i'  the 
same  battle  o'  guid  an'  ill,  I  dinna  see  the  muckle  differ  there 
wad  be  atween  them  an'  the  fish,  nor  what  for  they  sudna  ate 
ane  anither  as  the  craturs  i'  the  water  du.  But  gien  't  be  the 
battle  I  say,  there  can  be  no  pomp  o'  sea  or  sky  ower  gran' 
for  't ;  an'  it's  a'  weel  waured  (expended]  gien  it  but  haud  the 
gude  anes  merry  an'  strong,  an'  up  to  their  wark.  For  that, 
weel  may  the  sun  shine  a  celestial  rosy  reid,  an'  weel  may  the 
boatie  row,  an'  weel  may  the  stars  luik  doon,  blinkin'  an' 
luikin'  again — ilk  ane  duin'  its  bonny  pairt  to  mak  a  man  a 
richt-hetit  guid-willed  sodger  !  " 

Before  Malcolm  was  awake,  his  lordship  had  sent  for  him. 
When  he  re-entered  the  sick-chamber,  Mr.  Glennie  had  van- 
ished, the  table  had  been  removed,  and  instead  of  the  radiance 
of  the  wax  lights,  the  cold  gleam  of  a  vapor  dimmed  sun, 
with  its  sickly  blue-white  reflex  from  the  widespread  snow, 
filled  the  room.  The  marquis  looked  ghastly,  but  was  sipping 
chocolate  with  a  spoon. 

"  What  w'y  are  ye  the  day,  my  lord  ?  "  asked  Malcolm. 

"  Nearly  well,"  he  answered ;  "  but  those  cursed  carrion-crows 
are  set  upon  killing  me."  (Here  he  uttered  a  curse.) 

"  We'll  hae  Leddy  Florimel  sweirin'  awfu'  gien  ye  gang  on 
that  gait,  my  lord,"  said  Malcolm. 

The  marquis  laughed  feebly. 


540  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"  An'  what's  mair,"  Malcolm  continued,  "  I  doobt  they're 
some  partic'lar  aboot  the  turn  o'  their  phrases  up  yonner,  my 
lord." 

The  marquis  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  You  don't  anticipate  that  inconvenience  for  me  ?  "  he  said. 
"  I'm  pretty  sure  to  have  my  billet  where  they're  not  so 
precise." 

"  Dinna  brak  my  hert,  my  lord !  "  cried  Malcolm,  the  tears 
rushing  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  hurt  you,  Malcolm,"  rejoined  the 
marquis  gently,  almost  tenderly.  "  I  won't  go  there  if  I  can 
help  it.  I  shouldn't  like  to  break  any  more  hearts.  But  how 
the  devil  am  I  to  keep  out  of  it  ?  Besides,  there  are  people  up 
there  I  don't  want  to  meet ;  I  have  no  fancy  for  being  made 
ashamed  of  myself.  The  fact  is  I'm  not  fit  for  such  company, 
and  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  such  place.  But  if  there  be  I 
trust  in  God  there  isn't  any  other,  or  it  will  go  badly  with  your 
poor  master,  Malcolm.  It  doesn't  look  like  true — now  does  it  ? 
Only  such  a  multitude  of  things  I  thought  I  had  done  with  for- 
ever, keep  coming  up  and  grinning  at  me !  It  nearly  drives 
me  mad,  Malcolm — and  I  would  fain  die  like  a  gentleman,  with 
a  cool  bow  and  a  sharp  face-about." 

"  Wadna  ye  hae  a  word  wi'  somebody  'at  kens,  my  lord  ?  " 
said  Malcolm,  scarcely  able  to  reply. 

"  No,"  answered  the  marquis  fiercely.    "  That  Cairns  is  a  fool." 

"  He's  a'  that  an'  mair,  my  lord.     I  didna  mean  him." 

"  They're  all  fools  together." 

"  Ow,  na,  my  lord !  There's  a  heap  o'  them  no  muckle 
better,  it  may  be ;  but  ther's  guid  men  and  true  amang  them, 
or  the  kirk  wad  hae  been  wi'  Sodom  and  Gomorrha  by  this 
time.  But  it's  no  a  minister  I  wad  hae  yer  lordship  con- 
fair  wi'." 

"  Who  then,  Mrs.  Courthope  ?     Eh  ?  " 

"  Ow  na,  my  lord — no  Mistress  Coorthoup !  She's  a  guid 
body,  but  she  wadna  believe  her  ain  een  gien  onybody  ca'd  a 
minister  said  contrar'  to  them." 


EXTRACTS  FROM  " MALCOLM*  541 

"  Who  the  devil  do  you  mean  then?  " 

"  Nae  deevil,  but  an  honest  man  'at's  been  his  warst  enemy 
sae  lang's  I  hae  kent  him ;  Maister  Graham,  the  schuil- 
maister." 

"  Pooh !  "  said  the  marquis  with  a  puff.  "  I'm  too  old  to  go 
to  school." 

"  I  dinna  ken  the  man  'at  isna  a  bairn  till  him,  my  lord." 

"  In  Greek  and  Latin  ?  " 

"  I'  richteousness  an'  trouth,  my  lord ;  in  what's  been  an' 
what  is  to  be." 

"  What !  has  he  the  second  sight,  like  the  piper  ?  " 

"  He  has  the  second  sight,  my  lord — but  ane  'at  gangs  a  sicht 
farther  than  my  auld  daddy's." 

"  He  could  tell  me  then  what's  going  to  become  of  me?  " 

"  As  weel's  ony  man,  my  lord." 

"  That's  not  saying  much,  I  fear." 

"  Maybe  mair  nor  ye  think,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  take  him  my  compliments,  and  tell  him  I  should  like 
to  see  him,"  said  the  marquis,  after  a  pause. 

"  He'll  come  direckly,  my  lord." 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  the  marquis. 

"  Jist  as  readily,  my  lord,  as  he  wad  gang  to  ony  tramp  'at 
sent  for  'im  at  sic  a  time,"  returned  Malcolm,  who  did  not  relish 
either  the  remark  or  its  tone. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  You  don't  think  it  such  a 
serious  affair — do  you  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  ye  haena  a  chance." 

The  marquis  was  dumb.  He  had  actually  begun  once  more 
to  buoy  himself  up  with  earthly  hopes. 

Dreading  a  recall  of  his  commission,  Malcolm  slipped  from 
the  room,  sent  Mrs.  Courthope  to  take  his  place,  and  sped  to  the 
schoolmaster.  The  moment  Mr.  Graham  heard  the  marquis's 
message,  he  rose  without  a  word,  and  led  the  way  from  the  cot- 
tage. Hardly  a  sentence  passed  between  them  as  they  went,  for 
they  were  on  a  solemn  errand. 

"  Mr.  Graham's  here,  my  lord,"  said  Malcolm. 


542  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"  Where  ?    Not  in  the  room  ?  "   returned  the  marquis. 

"  Waitin'  at  the  door,  my  lord." 

"  Bah !  You  needn't  have  been  so  ready.  Have  you  told 
the  sexton  to  get  a  new  spade  ?  But  you  may  let  him  in.  And 
leave  him  alone  with  me." 

Mr.  Graham  walked  gently  up  to  the  bedside. 

"  Sit  down,  sir,"  said  the  marquis  courteously — pleased  with 
the  calm,  self-possessed,  unobtrusive  bearing  of  the  man.  "  They 
tell  me  I'm  dying,  Mr.  Graham." 

"  I'm  sorry  it  seems  to  trouble  you,  my  lord." 

"  What !  wouldn't  it  trouble  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,  my  lord." 

"  Ah !  you're  one  of  the  elect,  no  doubt ! " 

"  That's  a  thing  I  never  did  think  about,  my  lord." 

"  What  do  you  think  about,  then  ?  " 

"  About  God." 

"  And  when  you  die  you'll  go  straight  to  heaven,  of  course !  " 

"  I  don't  know,  my  lord.  That's  another  thing  I  never  trouble 
my  head  about." 

"  Ah !  you're  like  me  then !  I  don't  care  much  about  going  to 
heaven !  What  do  you  care  about? " 

"  The  will  of  God.     I  hope  your  lordship  will  say  the  same." 

"  No,  I  won't.     I  want  my  own  will." 

"  Well,  that  is  to  be  had,  my  lord." 

"How?" 

"  By  taking  his  for  yours,  as  the  better  of  the  two,  which  it 
must  be  every  way." 

"  That's  all  moonshine." 

"  It  is  light,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  confessing,  if  I  am  to  die,  I  should 
prefer  heaven  to  the  other  place ;  but  I  trust  I  have  no  chance 
of  either.  Do  you  now  honestly  believe  there  are  two  such 
places?" 

"  I  don't  know,  my  lord." 

"  You  don't  know !  And  you  come  here  to  comfort  a  dying 
man!" 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  543 

"  Your  lordship  must  first  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  '  two 
such  places.'  And  as  to  comfort,  going  by  my  notions,  I  cannot 
tell  which  you  would  be  more  or  less  comfortable  in ;  and  that, 
I  presume,  would  be  the  main  point  with  your  lordship." 

"  And  what,  pray  sir,  would  be  the  main  point  with  you  ?  " 

"  To  get  nearer  to  God." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  /  want  to  get  nearer  to  God.  It's  little  he's 
ever  done  for  me." 

"  It's  a  good  deal  he  has  tried  to  do  for  you,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  who  interfered?     Who  stood  in  his  way,  then?  " 

"  Yourself,  my  lord." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  of  it.  When  did  he  ever  try  to  do  anything 
for  me,  and  I  stood  in  his  way  ?  " 

"  When  he  gave  you  one  of  the  loveliest  of  women,  my  lord," 
said  Mr.  Graham,  with  solemn,  faltering  voice,  "  and  you  left  her 
to  die  in  neglect,  and  the  child  to  be  brought  up  by  strangers." 

The  marquis  gave  a  cry.  The  unexpected  answer  had  roused 
the  slowly  gnawing  death,  and  made  it  bite  deeper. 

"  What  have  you  to  do,"  he  almost  screamed,  "  with  my 
affairs  ?  It  was  for  me  to  introduce  what  I  chose  of  them.  You 
presume." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lord ;  you  led  me  to  what  I  was  bound  to 
say.  Shall  I  leave  you,  my  lord  ?  " 

The  marquis  made  no  answer. 

"  God  knows  I  loved  her,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  You  loved  her,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Love  a  woman  like  that,  and  come  to  this?  " 

"  Come  to  this !  We  must  all  come  to  this,  I  fancy,  sooner  or 
later.  Come  to  what,  in  the  name  of  Beelzebub  ?  " 

"  That,  having  loved  a  woman  like  her,  you  are  content  to 
lose  her.  In  the  name  of  God,  have  you  no  desire  to  see  her 
again  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  an  awkward  meeting,"  said  the  marquis. 

His  was  an  old  love,  alas  !     He  had  not  been  capable  of  the 


544  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

sort  that  defies  change.  It  had  faded  from  him  until  it  seemed 
one  of  the  things  that  are  not !  Although  his  being  had  once 
glowed  in  its  light,  he  could  now  speak  of  a  meeting  as  awk- 
ward! 

"  Because  you  wronged  her  ?  "  suggested  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Because  they  lied  to  me." 

"  Which  they  dared  not  have  done,  had  you  not  lied  to  them 
first." 

"  Sir !  "  shouted  the  marquis,  with  all  the  voice  he  had  left — 
"  O  God,  have  mercy !  I  cannot  punish  the  scoundrel." 

"  The  scoundrel  is  the  man  who  lies,  my  lord." 

"  Were  I  anywhere  else " 

"  There  would  be  no  good  in  telling  you  the  truth,  my  lord. 
You  showed  her  to  the  world  not  as  the  honest  wife  she  was. 
What  kind  of  a  lie  was  that,  my  lord?  Not  a  white  one, 
surely  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  coward  to  speak  so  to  a  man  who  cannot  even 
turn  on  his  side  to  curse  you  for  a  base  hound.  You  would  not 
dare  it  but  that  you  know  I  cannot  defend  myself." 

"  You  are  right,  my  lord ;  your  conduct  is  indefensible." 

"  If  I  could  but  get  this  cursed  leg  under  me,  I  would  throw 
you  out  of  the  window." 

"  I  shall  go  by  the  door,  my  lord.  While  you  hold  by  your 
sins,  your  sins  will  hold  by  you.  If  you  should  want  me  again, 
I  shall  be  at  your  lordship's  command." 

He  rose  and  left  the  room,  but  had  not  reached  his  cottage 
before  Malcolm  overtook  him  with  a  second  message  from  his 
master.  He  turned  at  once,  saying  only,  "  I  expected  it." 

"  Mr.  Graham,"  said  the  marquis,  looking  ghastly,  "  you  must 
have  patience  with  a  dying  man.  I  was  very  rude  to  you,  but 
I  was  in  horrible  pain." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  my  lord.  It  would  be  a  poor  friendship 
that  gave  way  for  a  rough  word." 

"  How  can  you  call  yourself  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  your  friend,  my  lord,  if  it  were  only  for  your 
wife's  sake.  She  died  loving  you.  I  want  to  send  you  to  her, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  545 

my  lord.  You  will  allow  that,  as  a  gentleman,  you  at  least  owe 
her  an  apology." 

"  By  Jove,  you  are  right,  sir !  Then  you  really  and, positively 
believe  in  the  place  they  call  heaven  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  I  believe  that  those  who  open  their  hearts  to  the 
truth,  shall  see  the  light  on  their  friends'  faces  again,  and  be 
able  to  set  right  what  was  wrong  between  them." 

"  It's  a  week  too  late  to  talk  of  setting  right !  " 

"  Go  and  tell  her  you  are  sorry,  my  lord — that  will  be  enough 
to  her." 

"  Ah !  but  there's  more  than  her  concerned." 

"  You  are  right,  my  lord.  There  is  another — one  who  can- 
not be  satisfied  that  the  fairest  works  of  his  hands,  or  rather  the 
loveliest  children  of  his  heart,  should  be  treated  as  you  have 
treated  women." 

"  But  the  Deity  you  talk  of " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord.  I  talked  of  no  deity ;  I  talked 
of  a  living  Love  that  gave  us  birth  and  calls  us  his  children. 
Your  deity  I  know  nothing  of." 

"  Call  him  what  you  please — he  won't  be  put  off  so  easily  !  " 

"  He  won't  be  put  off  one  jot  or  one  tittle.  He  will  forgive 
anything,  but  he  will  pass  nothing.  Will  your  wife  forgive 
you?" 

"  She  will — when  I  explain." 

"  Then  why  should  you  think  the  forgiveness  of  God,  which 
created  her  forgiveness,  should  be  less  ?  " 

Whether  the  marquis  could  grasp  the  reasoning,  may  be 
doubtful. 

"  Do  you  really  suppose  God  cares  whether  a  man  comes  to 
good  or  ill?" 

"  If  he  did  not,  he  could  not  be  good  himself." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  a  good  God  would  care  to  punish 
poor  wretches  like  us  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  has  not  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding  him- 
self as  a  poor  wretch.  And,  remember,  you  can't  call  a  child  a 
poor  wretch  without  insulting  the  father  of  it." 

a.  M.— 35 


546  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

"  That's  quite  another  thing." 

"  But  on  the  wrong  side  for  your  argument — seeing  the  rela- 
tion between  God  and  the  poorest  creature  is  infinitely  closer 
than  that  between  any  father  and  his  child." 

"  Then  he  can't  be  so  hard  on  him  as  the  parsons  say." 

"  He  will  give  him  absolute  justice,  which  is  the  only  good 
thing.  He  will  spare  nothing  to  bring  his  children  back  to 
himself — their  sole  well-being.  What  would  you  do,  my  lord, 
if  you  saw  your  son  strike  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Knock  him  down  and  horsewhip  him." 

It  was  Mr.  Graham  who  broke  the  silence  that  followed. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  yourself,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  No,  by  God  !  " 

"  You  would  like  to  be  better  ?  " 

"  I  would." 

"  Then  you  are  of  the  same  mind  with  God." 

"  Yes ;  but  I'm  not  a  fool !  It  won't  do  to  say  I  should  like 
to  be.  I  must  be,  and  that's  not  so  easy.  It's  hard  to  be  good. 
I  would  have  a  fight  for  it,  but  there's  no  time.  How  is  a  poor 
devil  to  get  out  of-such  an  infernal  scrape?  " 

"  Keep  the  commandments." 

"  That's  it,  of  course ;  but  there's  no  time,  I  tell  you — at  least 
so  those  cursed  doctors  will  keep  telling  me." 

"  If  there  were  but  time  to  draw  another  breath,  there  would 
be  time  to  begin." 

"  How  am  I  to  begin  ?     Which  am  I  to  begin  with  ?  " 

"  There  is  one  commandment  which  includes  all  the  rest." 

"Which  is  that?" 

"  To  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"  That's  cant." 

"  After  thirty  years'  trial  of  it,  it  is  to  me  the  essence  of 
wisdom.  It  has  given  me  a  peace  which  makes  life  or  death 
all  but  indifferent  to  me,  though  I  would  choose  the  latter." 

"  What  am  I  to  believe  about  him,  then  ?  " 

"  You  are  to  believe  in  him,  not  about  him." 

"  I  don't  understand." 


EXTRACTS  FROM  ''MALCOLM"  547 

"  He  is  our  Lord  and  Master,  Elder  Brother,  King  Saviour, 
the  divine  Man,  the  human  God ;  to  believe  in  him  is  to  give 
ourselves  up  to  him  in  obedience,  to  search  out  his  will  and  do  it." 

"  But  there's  no  time,  I  tell  you  again,"  the  marquis  almost 
shrieked. 

"  And  I  tell  you,  there  is  all  eternity  to  do  it  in.  Take  him 
for  your  master,  and  he  will  demand  nothing  of  you  which  you 
are  not  able  to  perform.  This  is  the  open  door  to  bliss.  With 
your  last  breath  you  can  cry  to  him,  and  he  will  hear  you,  as 
he  heard  the  thief  on  the  cross  who  cried  to  him  dying  beside 
him.  '  Lord,  remember  me  when  thou  comest  into  thy  king- 
dom/ '  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  paradise.'  It  makes 
my  heart  swell  to  think  of  it,  my  lord !  No  cross-questioning 
of  the  poor  fellow !  No  preaching  to  him  !  He  just  took  him 
with  him  where  he  was  going,  to  make  a  man  of  him." 

"  Well,  you  know  something  of  my  history.  What  would  you 
have  me  do  now  ?  At  once,  I  mean.  What  would  the  person 
you  speak  of  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  for  me  to  say,  my  lord." 

"  You  could  give  me  a  hint." 

"  No.  God  is  telling  you  himself.  For  me  to  presume  to  tell 
you,  would  be  to  interfere  with  him.  What  he  would  have  a 
man  do,  he  lets  him  know  in  his  mind." 

"  But  what  if  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  before  the  last 
came?" 

"  Then  I  fear  he  would  say  to  you — '  Depart  from  me,  thou 
worker  of  iniquity.' " 

"That  would  be  hard  when  another  minute  might  have 
done  it." 

"  If  another  minute  would  have  done  it,  you  would  have 
had  it." 

A  paroxysm  of  pain  followed,  during  which  Mr.  Graham 
silently  left  him. 

The  marquis  would  not  have  the  doctor  come  near  him,  and 
when  Malcolm  entered  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  Mrs. 


548  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

Courthope.  The  shadow  had  crept  far  along  the  dial.  His 
face  had  grown  ghastly,  the  skin  had  sunk  to  the  bones,  and 
his  eyes  stood  out  as  if  from  much  staring  into  the  dark.  They 
rested  very  mournfully  on  Malcolm  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  closed  softly. 

"  Is  she  come  yet?"  he  murmured,  opening  them  wide,  with 
sudden  stare. 

"  No,  my  lord." 

The  lids  fell  again,  softly,  slowly. 

"  Be  good  to  her,  Malcolm,"  he  murmured. 

"  I  wull,  my  lord,"  said  Malcolm  solemnly. 

Then  the  eyes  opened  and  looked  at  him ;  something  grew 
in  them — a  light  as  of  love,  and  drew  up  after  it  a  tear ;  but 
the  lips  said  nothing.  The  eyelids  fell  again,  and  in  a  minute 
more,  Malcolm  knew  by  his  breathing  that  he  slept. 

The  slow  night  waned.  He  woke  sometimes,  but  soon  dozed 
off  again.  The  two  watched  by  him  till  the  dawn.  It  brought 
a  still  gray  morning,  without  a  breath  of  wind,  and  warm  for 
the  season.  The  marquis  appeared  a  little  revived,  but  was 
hardly  able  to  speak.  Mostly  by  signs  he  made  Malcolm 
understand  that  he  wanted  Mr.  Graham,  but  that  some  one  else 
must  go  for  him.  Mrs.  Courthope  went. 

As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  the  room,  he  lifted  his  hand  with 
effort,  laid  feeble  hold  on  Malcolm's  jacket,  and  drawing  him 
down,  kissed  him  on  the  forehead.  Malcolm  burst  into  tears, 
and  sank  weeping  by  the  bedside. 

Mr.  Graham,  entering  a  little  after,  and  seeing  Malcolm  on 
his  knees,  knelt  also,  and  broke  into  a  prayer. 

"  O  blessed  Father !  "  he  said,  "  who  knowest  this  thing,  so 
strange  to  us,  which  we  call  death,  breathe  more  life  into  the 
heart  of  thy  dying  son,  that  in  the  power  of  life  he  may  front 
death.  0  Lord  Christ,  who  diedst  thyself,  and  in  thyself 
knowest  it  all,  heal  this  man  in  his  sore  need — heal  him  with 
strength  to  die." 

Came  a  faint  Amen  from  the  marquis. 

u  Thou  didst  send  him  into  the  world ;  help  him  out  of  it.    0 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "MALCOLM"  549 

God,  we  belong  to  thee  utterly.  We  dying  men  are  thy  children, 
0  living  Father!  Thou  art  such  a  father,  that  thou  takest  our 
sins  from  us  and  throwest  them  behind  thy  back.  Thou 
cleanest  our  souls,  as  thy  Son  did  wash  our  feet.  We  hold  our 
hearts  up  to  thee ;  make  them  what  they  must  be,  0  Love,  0 
Life  of  men,  O  Heart  of  hearts !  Give  thy  dying  child  9ourage, 
and  hope,  and  peace — the  peace  of  him  who  overcame  all  the 
terrors  of  humanity,  even  death  itself,  and  liveth  for  evermore, 
sitting  at  thy  right  hand,  our  God-brother,  blessed  to  all  ages — 
amen." 

"  Amen ! "  murmured  the  marquis,  and  slowly  lifting  his 
hand  from  the  coverlid,  he  laid  it  on  the  head  of  Malcolm,  who 
did  not  know  it  was  the  hand  of  his  father,  blessing  him  ere  he 
died. 

"  Be  good  to  her,"  said  the  marquis  once  more. 

But  Malcolm  could  not  answer  for  weeping,  and  the  marquis 
was  not  satisfied.  Gathering  all  his  force  he  said  again : 

"  Be  good  to  her." 

"  I  wull,  I  wull,"  burst  from  Malcolm  in  sobs,  and  he  wailed 
aloud. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  the  afternoon  came.  Still  Lady  Flori- 
mel  had  not  arrived,  and  still  the  marquis  lingered. 

As  the  gloom  of  the  twilight  was  deepening  into  the  early 
darkness  of  the  winter  night,  he  opened  wide  his  eyes,  and  was 
evidently  listening.  Malcolm  could  hear  nothing ;  but  the 
light  in  his  master's  face  grew,  and  the  strain  of  his  listening 
diminished.  At  length  Malcolm  became  aware  of  the  sound  of 
wheels,  which  came  rapidly  nearer,  till  at  last  the  carriage 
swung  up  to  the  hall  door.  A  moment,  and  Lady  Florimel 
was  flitting  across  the  room. 

"  Papa !  papa !  "  she  cried,  and,  throwing  her  arm  over  him, 
laid  her  cheek  to  his. 

The  marquis  could  not  return  her  embrace ;  he  could  only 
receive  her  into  the  depths  of  his  shining  tearful  eyes. 

"  Flory ! "  he  murmured,  "  I'm  going  away.  I'm  going — I've 
got — to  make  an — apology.  Malcolm,  be  good " 


550  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished.  The  light  paled  from  his 
countenance — he  had  to  carry  it  with  him.  He  was  dead. 

Lady  Florimel  gave  a  loud  cry.  Mrs.  Courthope  ran  to  her 
assistance. 

"  My  lady's  in  a  dead  faint ! "  she  whispered,  and  left  the 
room  tq  get  help. 

Malcolm  lifted  Lady  Florimel  in  his  great  arms,  and  bore  her 
tenderly  to  her  own  apartment.  There  he  left  her  to  the  care 
of  her  women,  and  returned  to  the  chamber  of  death. 

Meantime  Mr.  Graham  arid  Mr.  Soutar  had  come. 

When  Malcolm  re-entered,  the  schoolmaster  took  him  kindly 
by  the  arm  and  said : 

"  Malcolm,  there  can  be  neither  place  nor  moment  fitter  for 
the  solemn  communication  I  am  commissioned  to  make  to 
you ;  I  have,  as  in  the  presence  of  your  dead  father,  to  inform 
you  that  you  are  now  Marquis  of  Lossie ;  and  God  forbid  you 
should  be  less  worthy  as  marquis  than  you  have  been  as 
fisherman ! " 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

1837 

EDWARD  EGGLESTON  was  born  of  Virginia  lineage,  in  Vevay,  Indi- 
ana, on  the  10th  of  December,  1837.  His  father,  a  man  of  fine  educa- 
tion, scholarly  tastes  and  acquirements,  and  locally  prominent  as  a 
lawyer  and  in  public  life,  died  when  Edward  was  but  nine  years  of 
age.  One  of  his  last  acts  was  to  direct  in  his  will  that  his  law  library 
should  be  exchanged  for  works  of  general  literature  for  the  cultivation 
of  his  children's  tastes. 

Edward's  health  was  delicate  and  his  education  very  irregular,  but 
he  early  showed  a  strong  bent  for  a  literary  life.  He  removed  to  Min- 
nesota in  1857,  having  already  entered  the  Methodist  ministry.  He 
served  as  pastor  of  churches  in  several  of  the  leading  towns  of  Minne- 
sota, but  he  gave  up  the  ministry  on  account  of  ill  health  in  1866,  and 
became  successively  editor  of  The  Little  Corporal,  and  The  National 
Sunday  School  Teacher,  at  Chicago. 

In  1870  he  removed  to  New  York,  to  become  literary  editor  of  the 
Independent,  and  at  the  close  of  that  year  he  became  the  chief  editor 
of  the  same  paper.  In  1871  he  retired  from  the  Independent,  to  take 
charge  for  more  than  a  year  of  Hearth  and  Home,  and  he  signalized 
the  change  by  producing  his  first  novel,  "  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster," 
in  the  columns  of  the  latter  paper.  Its  popularity  was  very  great  and 
its  sale  continues  large  to  the  present  time.  Pirated  editions  appeared 
in  England  and  in  several  of  the  British  colonies,  and  it  was  trans- 
lated into  French,  German,  and  Danish. 

Other  novels  have  followed  with  varying  success.  Some  of  these 
have  rivaled  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster" in  persistent  popularity.  In 
1889,  Mr.  Eggleston  published  his  "History  of  the  United  States  and 
its  People,  for  the  Use  of  Schools,"  and  in  1890  his  "First  Book  in 
American  History,"  both  of  which  have  been  very  successful. 

Mr.  Eggleston  worked  unremittingly  in  favor  of  international  copy- 
right, and  it  was  largely  due  to  his  efforts  and  untiring  zeal  that  this 
law  was  finally  passed  in  1891.  His  brother  authors,  in  grateful  ap- 
preciation of  the  service  he  rendered  them  in  this  respect,  insisted  that 
his  book,  "The  Faith  Doctor,"  should  be  the  first  to  be  copyrighted 
551 


552  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

under  the  new  law.    This  has  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular  of 
his  works. 

For  many  years  Mr.  Eggleston  has  led  a  purely  literary  life,  devot- 
ing himself  to  historical  study  and  to  the  production  of  an  occasional 
novel. 

Characterization 

Mr.  Eggleston's  stories  have  held  from  the  beginning  a  great  popu- 
larity with  a  large  circle  of  readers,  and  it  has  been  in  many  ways 
well  deserved.  They  are  full  of  incident;  all  of  these  rapid  events 
occur  amid  scenes  almost  entirely  new  to  the  Eastern  reader  and  the 
new  generation  of  Westerners ;  and  they  have  in  a  high  degree  the 
element  of  dialectic  speech,  which  confers  upon  the  personages  of  the 
story  that  appearance  of  reality  and  individuality  for  which  the  novel- 
writer  has  to  watch  so  keenly  and  work  so  hard. 

"THE  NATION." 

With  each  new  novel  the  author  of  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster" 
enlarges  his  audience  and  surprises  old  friends  by  reserve  forces  un- 
suspected. Sterling  integrity  of  character  and  high  moral  motives 
illuminate  Dr.  Eggleston's  fiction  and  assure  its  place  in  the  literature 
of  America,  which  is  to  stand  as  a  worthy  reflex  of  the  best  thought 
of  this  age.  "  NEW  YORK  WORLD." 

Mr.  Eggleston's  merits  as  a  writer  are  fairly  well  known.  He  has  a 
very  pleasant  and  slightly  cynical  humor;  he  writes  with  restraint, 
without  undue  emphasis  or  exaggeration.  He  knows  the  strong  side 
of  human  nature  well,  and  the  weak  side  exceedingly  well. 

"  LONDON  SPEAKER." 

A  Struggle  for  the  Mastery ' 

(From  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster") 

The  school  closed  on  Monday  evening,  as  usual.  The  boys 
had  been  talking  in  knots  all  day.  Nothing  but  the  bull-dog 
in  the  slender  resolute  young  master  had  kept  down  the  rising 
storm.  Let  a  teacher  lose  moral  support  at  home,  and  he  can- 
not long  govern  a  school.  Ralph  had  effectually  lost  his  popu- 
larity in  the  district ;  and  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  could  not 

1  By  permission  of  the  publishers,  Orange  Judd  Company. 


A  STRUGGLE  FOB  THE  MASTERY        553 

divine  from  just  what  quarter  the  ill  wind  came,  except  that  he 
felt  sure  of  Small's  agency  in  it  somewhere.  Even  Hannah  had 
slighted  him  when  he  called  at  Mean's,  on  Monday  morning,  to 
draw  the  pittance  of  pay  that  was  due  him. 

He  had  expected  a  petition  for  a  holiday  on  Christmas  day. 
Such  holidays  were  deducted  from  the  teacher's  time,  and  it 
was  customary  for  the  boys  to  "  turn  out "  the  teacher  who 
refused  to  grant  them,  by  barring  him  out  of  the  schoolhouse 
on  Christmas  and  New  Year's  morning.  Ralph  had  intended 
to  grant  a  holiday  if  it  should  be  asked,  but  it  was  not  asked. 
Hank  Banta  was  the  ringleader  in  the  disaffection,  and  he  had 
managed  to  draw  the  surly  Bud,  who  was  present  this  morning, 
into  it.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  Bud  was  in  favor  of  making 
a  request  before  resorting  to  extreme  measures,  but  he  was  over- 
ruled. He  gave  it  as  his  solemn  opinion  that  the  master  was 
mighty  pert,  and  they  would  be  beat  anyhow  some  way,  but  he 
would  lick  the  master  fer  two  cents  ef  he  warn't  so  slim  that 
he'd  feel  like  he  was  fighting  a  baby. 

And  all  that  day  things  looked  black.  Ralph's  countenance 
was  cold  and  hard  as  stone,  and  Shocky  trembled  where  he  sat 
in  front  of  him.  Betsey  Short  tittered  rather  more  than  usual. 
A  riot  or  a  murder  would  have  seemed  amusing  to  her. 

School  was  dismissed,  and  Ralph,  instead  of  returning  to 
the  Squire's,  set  out  for  the  village  of  Clifty,  a  few  miles  away. 
No  one  knew  what  he  went  for,  and  some  suggested  that  he 
had  "sloped."  But  Bud  said  "he  warn't  that  air  kind.  He 
was  one  of  them  air  sort  as  died  in  ther  tracks,  was  Mr. 
Hartsook.  They'd  find  him  on  the  ground  nex'  morning,  and 
he  'lowed  the  master  war  made  of  air  sort  of  stuff  as  would 
burn  the  dogon'd  ole  schoolhouse  to  ashes,  or  blow  it  into 
splinters,  but  what  he'd  beat.  Howsumdever  he'd  said  he  was 
a-goin'  to  help,  and  help  he  would  ;  but  all  the  sinnoo  in  Golier 
wouldn'  be  no  account  agin  the  cute  they  was  in  the  head  of 
the  master." 

But  Bud,  discouraged  as  he  was  with  the  fear  of  Ralph's 
"cute,"  went  like  a  martyr  to  the  stake  and  took  his  place  with 


554  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

the  rest  in  the  schoolhouse,  at  nine  o'clock  at  night.  It  may 
have  been  Ralph's  intention  to  have  preoccupied  the  school- 
house,  for  at  ten  o'clock  Hank  Banta  was  set  shaking  from  head 
to  foot  at  seeing  a  face  that  looked  like  the  master's  at  the  win- 
dow. He  waked  up  Bud  and  told  him  about  it. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  a-tremblin'  about,  you  coward?"  growled 
Bud.  "  He  won't  shoot  you  ;  but  he'll  beat  you  at  this  game, 
I'll  bet  a  hoss,  and  me,  too,  and  make  us  both  as  'shamed  of 
ourselves  as  dogs  with  tin-kittles  to  their  tails.  You  don't  know 
the  master,  though  he  did  duck  you.  But  he'll  larn  you  a 
good  lesson  this  time,  and  me  too,  like  as  not."  And  Bud  soon 
snored  again,  but  Hank  shook  with  fear  every  time  he  looked 
at  the  blackness  outside  the  windows.  He  was  sure  he  heard 
footfalls.  He  would  have  given  anything  to  have  been  at 
home. 

When  morning  came,  the  pupils  began  to  gather  early.  A 
few  boys  who  were  likely  to  prove  of  service  in  the  coming  siege 
were  admitted  through  the  window,  and  then  everything  was 
made  fast,  and  a  "  snack  "  was  eaten. 

"  How  do  you  'low  he'll  git  in  ?  "  said  Hank,  trying  to  hide 
his  fear. 

"  How  do  I  'low?"  said  Bud.  "I  don't  'low  nothin'  about  it. 
You  might  as  well  ax  me  where  I  'low  the  nex'  shootin'  star  is 
a-goin'  to  drap.  Mr.  Hartsook's  mighty  onsartin.  But  he'll  git 
in  though,  and  tan  your  hide  fer  you,  you  see  ef  he  don't.  Ef 
he  don't  blow  up  the  schoolhouse  with  gunpowder !  "  This 
last  was  thrown  in  by  way  of  alleviating  the  fears  of  the  cow- 
ardly Hank,  for  whom  Bud  had  a  great  contempt. 

The  time  for  school  had  almost  come.  The  boys  inside  were 
demoralized  by  waiting.  They  began  to  hope  that  the  master 
had  "  sloped."  They  dreaded  to  see  him  coming. 

"  I  don't  believe  he'll  come,"  said  Hank,  with  a  cold  shiver. 
"  It's  past  school-time." 

"  Yes,  he  will  come,  too,"  said  Bud.  "  And  he  'lows  to  come 
in  here  mighty  quick.  I  don't  know  how.  But  he'll  be 
a-standin'  at  that  air  desk  when  it's  nine  o'clock.  I'll  bet  a 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR   THE  MASTERY  555 

thousand  dollars  on  that.  Ef  he  don't  take  it  into  his  head  to 
blow  us  up !  "  Hank  was  now  white. 

Some  of  the  parents  came  along,  accidentally  of  course,  and 
stopped  to  see  the  fun,  sure  that  Bud  would  thrash  the  master 
if  he  tried  to  break  in.  Small,  on  the  way  to  see  a  patient,  per- 
haps, reined  up  in  front  of  the  door.  Still  no  Ralph.  It  was 
just  five  minutes  before  nine.  A  rumor  now  gained  currency 
that  he  had  been  seen  going  to  Clifty  the  evening  before,  and 
that  he  had  not  come  back ;  in  fact,  Ralph  had  come  back,  and 
had  slept  at  Squire  Hawkins's. 

"  There's  the  master,"  cried  Betsey  Short,  who  stood  out  in  the 
road,  shivering  and  giggling  alternately.  For  Ralph  at  that 
moment  emerged  from  the  sugar-camp  by  the  schoolhouse, 
carrying  a  board. 

"  Ho !  ho !  "  laughed  Hank,  "  he  thinks  he'll  smoke  us  out. 
I  guess  he'll  find  us  ready."  The  boys  had  let  the  fire  burn 
down,  and  there  was  now  nothing  but  hot  hickory  coals  on  the 
hearth. 

"  I  tell  you  he'll  come  in.  He  didn't  go  to  Clifty  fer  nothin'," 
said  Bud,  who  sat  on  one  of  the  benches  which  leaned  against 
the  door.  "  I  don't  know  how,  but  they's  lots  of  ways  of  killing 
a  cat  besides  chokin'  her  with  butter.  He'll  come  in — ef  he 
don't  blow  us  all  sky-high  ! " 

Ralph's  voice  was  now  heard,  demanding  that  the  door  be 
opened. 

"  Let's  open  her,"  said  Hank,  turning  livid  with  fear  at  the 
firm  confident  tone  of  the  master. 

Bud  straightened  himself  up.  "  Hank,  you're  a  coward.  I've 
got  a  mind  to  kick  you.  You  got  me  into  this  blamed  mess, 
and  now  you  want  to  flunk.  You  just  tech  one  of  these  ere 
fastenings,  and  I'll  lay  you  out  flat  of  your  back  afore  you  can 
say  Jack  Robinson." 

The  teacher  was  climbing  to  the  roof,  with  the  board  in  his 
hand. 

"  That  air  won't  win,"  laughed  Pete  Jones,  outside.  He  saw 
that  there  was  no  smoke.  Even  Bud  began  to  hope  that  Ralph 


556  EDWARD  EQGLESTON 

would  fail,  for  once.  The  master  was  now  on  the  ridge-pole  of 
the  schoolhouse.  He  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  delib- 
erately poured  the  contents  down  the  chimney. 

Mr.  Pete  Jones  shouted  "  Gunpowder !  "  and  started  down  the 
road,  to  be  out  of  the  explosion.  Dr.  Small  remembered,  proba- 
bly, that  his  patient  might  die  while  he  sat  there,  and  started  on. 

But  Ralph  emptied  the  paper,  and  laid  the  board  over  the 
chimney.  What  a  row  there  was  inside!  The  benches  that 
were  braced  against  the  door  were  thrown  down,  and  Hank 
Banta  rushed  out,  rubbing  his  eyes,  coughing  frantically,  and 
sure  that  he  had  been  blown  up.  All  the  rest  followed,  Bud 
bringing  up  the  rear  sulkily,  but  coughing  and  sneezing  for 
dear  life.  Such  a  smell  of  sulphur  as  came  from  that  school- 
house! 

Betsey  had  to  lean  against  the  fence  to  giggle. 

As  soon  as  all  were  out,  Ralph  threw  the  board  off  the  chim- 
ney, leaped  to  the  ground,  entered  the  schoolhouse,  and  opened 
the  windows.  The  school  soon  followed  him,  and  all  was  still. 

"Would  he  thrash?"  This  was  the  important  question  in 
Hank  Banta's  mind.  And  the  rest  looked  for  a  battle  with  Bud. 

"It  is  just  nine  o'clock,"  said  Ralph,  consulting  his  watch, 
"  and  I'm  glad  to  see  you  all  here  promptly.  I  should  have 
given  you  a  holiday,  if  you  had  asked  me  like  gentlemen,  yes- 
terday. On  the  whole,  I  think  I  shall  give  you  a  holiday,  any- 
how. The  school  is  dismissed." 

And  Hank  felt  foolish. 

And  Bud  secretly  resolved  to  thrash  Hank  or  the  master,  he 
didn't  care  which. 

And  Mirandy  looked  the  love  she  could  not  utter. 

And  Betsey  giggled. 

Some  Western  Schoolmasters1 

In  a  ragged  little  frontier  village,  where  the  smoky  wigwams 
of  the  savage  and  thriftless  Sioux  still  lingered  among  the 

1  By  permission  of  the  Century  Company. 


SOME   WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS  557 

unpainted  board  cottages  of  the  settlers,  there  was  a  schoolmas- 
ter who  published  a  little  sheet,  at  the  close  of  his  school  term, 
filled  with  the  essays  of  his  pupils.  For  a  motto  over  this 
weakly  paper  he  told  the  printer  to  set : 

"  No  pent-up  continent  contracts  our  powers, 
But  the  whole  boundless  universe  is  ours. " 

The  printer  thought  that  the  little  school  was  staking  out  rather 
too  large  a  preemption  claim ;  he  suggested  to  the  teacher  that 

"  No  pent-up  Utica  contracts  our  powers, 
But  the  whole  boundless  continent  is  ours," 

was  the  correct  version,  and  was  sufficiently  broad  for  the  size 
of  the  sheet. 

"  Oh,  that  isn't  right,"  said  the  master,  contemptuously.  "  I 
suppose  some  of  them  Utica  papers  had  it  that  way." 

It  seems  just  possible  that  this  teacher,  on  the  edge  of  civ- 
ilization, was  a  sort  of  embodiment  of  our  modern  spirit.  Is 
the  present  system  of  cramming  a  great  advance  on  older  and 
simpler  methods  of  teaching  ?  In  the  curriculum  of  our  time, 
neither  Utica  nor  the  continent  will  serve  our  turn.  We 
attempt  the  whole  boundless  universe,  forgetful  of  Hosea  Big- 
low's  wise  couplet : 

"  For  it  strikes  me  ther's  sech  a  thing  ez  sinnin' 
By  overloadin'  children's  underpinnin'. " 

As  I  recall  the  old-time  school,  I  cannot  but  think  that,  if  its 
discipline  was  somewhat  more  brutal  than  the  school  discipline 
of  to-day,  its  course  of  study  was  far  less  so.  Children  did  not 
often  die  of  the  severity  of  the  old  masters,  though  many  perish 
from  the  hard  requirements  of  the  modern  system. 

To  a  nervous  child  the  old  discipline  was,  indeed,  very 
terrible.  The  long  beech  switches  hanging  on  hooks  against 
the  wall  haunted  me  night  and  day,  from  the  time  I  entered 
one  of  the  old  schools.  And  whenever  there  came  an  outburst 
between  master  and  pupils,  the  thoughtless  child  often  got  the 


558  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

beating  that  should  have  fallen  upon  the  malicious  mischief- 
maker.  As  the  master  was  always  quick  to  fly  into  a  passion, 
the  fun-loving  boys  were  always  happy  to  stir  him  up.  It  was 
an  exciting  sport,  like  bull-baiting,  or  like  poking  sticks  through 
a  fence  at  a  cross  dog.  Sometimes  the  ferocious  master  showed 
an  ability  on  his  own  part  to  get  some  fun  out  of  the  conflict, 
as  when  on  one  occasion  in  a  school  in  Ohio,  the  hoys  were  for- 
bidden to  attend  a  circus.  Five  or  six  of  them  went,  in  spite 
of  the  prohibition.  The  next  morning  the  schoolmaster  called 
them  out  on  the  floor  and  addressed  them  : 

"  So  you  went  to  the  circus,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  the  others  did  not  get  a  chance  to  see  the  circus.  I 
want  you  boys  to  show  them  what  it  looked  like,  and  how  the 
horses  galloped  around  the  ring.  You  will  join  your  hands  in 
a  circle  about  the  stove.  Now  start !  " 

With  that  he  began  whipping  them,  as  they  trotted  around 
and  around  the  stove.  This  story  is  told,  I  believe,  in  a  little 
volume  of  "Sketches,"  by  Erwin  House,  now  long  forgotten, 
like  many  other  good  books  of  the  Western  literature  of  a 
generation  ago.  I  think  the  author  was  one  of  the  boys  who 
"  played  horse  "  in  the  master's  circus. 

It  was  fine  sport  for  the  more  daring  boys  to  plant  a  handful 
of  coffee-nuts  in  the  ashes  just  before  the  master's  entrance.  It 
is  the  nature  of  these  coffee-nuts  to  lie  quietly  in  the  hot  ashes 
for  about  half  an  hour,  and  then  to  explode  with  a  sharp  report, 
scattering  the  live  coals  in  an  inspiring  way.  Nothing  could 
be  funnier  than  the  impotent  wrath  of  the  schoolmaster,  as  he 
went  poking  in  the  embers  to  find  the  remaining  nuts,  which 
generally  eluded  his  search  and  popped  away  like  torpedoes 
under  his  very  nose. 

The  teaching  in  these  schools  was  often  quite  absurd.  I  was 
made  to  go  through  Webster's  spelling-book  five  times  before  I 
was  thought  fit  to  begin  to  read,  and  my  mother,  twenty  years 
earlier,  spelled  it  through  nine  times  before  she  was  allowed  to 
begin  Lindley  Murray's  "  English  Reader."  It  was  by  mere 


SOME  WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS        559 

chance  of  the  survival  of  some  of  the  tougher  old  masters  that  I 
knew  the  old  school  in  its  glory.  The  change  for  the  better  was 
already  beginning  thirty  or  forty  years  ago.  The  old  masters 
taught  their  pupils  to  "do  sums,"  the  new  ones  had  already 
begun  to  teach  arithmetic.  In  one  of  the  schools  in  the  gen- 
eration before  me  was  one  Jim  Garner ;  he  must  be  an  old  man 
now,  if  he  is  yet  living,  and  he  will  pardon  my  laughing  at 
the  boy  of  fifty  years  ago.  One  day  he  sat  for  a  long  time 
tapping  his  slate  with  his  pencil. 

"  Jeems,"  cried  the  master,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  I'm  a-tryin'  to  think,  and  I  can't,"  said  Jim,  "  if  you  take 
three  from  one,  how  many  there  is  left." 

It  was  in  the  same  old  Bethel  schoolhouse,  about  the  same 
time,  that  the  master,  one  Benefiel,  called  out  the  spelling  class 
of  which  my  mother,  then  a  little  girl,  was  usually  at  the  head. 
The  word  given  out  was  "onion."  I  suppose  the  scholars  at  the 
head  of  the  class  had  not  recognized  the  word  by  its  spelling  in 
studying  their  lessons.  They  all  missed  it  widely,  spelling  it  in 
the  most  ingeniously  incorrect  fashions.  Near  the  foot  of  the 
class  stood  a  boy  who  had  never  been  able  to  climb  up  toward 
the  head.  But  of  the  few  words  he  did  know  how  to  spell,  one 
was  "  onion."  When  the  word  was  missed  at  the  head  he  became 
greatly  excited,  twisting  himself  into  the  most  ludicrous  contor- 
tions as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  him.  At  length  the  one 
just  above  the  eager  boy  missed,  the  master  said  "  next,"  where- 
upon he  exultingly  swung  his  hand  above  his  head  and  came 
out  with  :  "  O-n,  un,  i-o-n,  yun,  ing-un, — I'm  head,  by  gosh  ! " 
and  he  marched  to  the  head  while  the  master  hit  him  a  blow 
across  the  shoulders  for  swearing. 

The  beginning  of  "  educational  reform  "  in  my  childhood  took 
on  curious  forms.  We  had  one  grown  man  in  Benefiel's  school 
who  got  his  tuition  free  of  charge  in  consideration  of  his  teach- 
ing the  master  and  some  of  the  older  pupils  geography  by  the 
new  method  of  singing  it,  which  he  had  learned  somewhere. 
At  the  noon  recess  he  and  the  master,  with  others,  would  sit 
with  Smith's  Atlas  open  before  them,  singing  away  in  the  most 


560  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

earnest  and  sentimental  sing-song  such  refrains  as  this,  pointing 
to  the  state  capitals  while  they  sang : 

"Maine,  Au — gusta!     Maine,  Au — gusta! 
Neiv  Hampshire,  Concord,  Neiv  Hampshire,  Concord. " 

and  so  on  down  to  the  newly  annexed  state  of  Texas. 

The  "  Rule  of  Three  "  was  the  objective  point  of  all  study, 
and  he  who  had  ciphered  through  that  had  well-nigh  exhausted 
human  knowledge.  The  illiteracy  of  the  up-country  regions 
was  very  great,  and,  during  the  six  years  which  my  father, 
on  account  of  declining  health,  passed  in  a  country  place, 
our  experience  with  schools  was  not  a  happy  one.  There 
came  at  one  time  to  our  district  an  old  Irish  master  who  also 
claimed  to  be  a  doctor.  Some  years  before,  in  a  lawsuit  in 
which  my  father  was  retained,  the  old  man  persisted  in  writing 
his  own  deposition,  wherein  he  related  that  he  had  studied 
"  medesin  "  in  Ireland.  The  old  man  was  very  much  enraged 
when  my  father  declined  to  send  us  to  his  school.  He  had 
been  known  to  spend  a  solid  hour  in  family  devotions  and  then, 
rising  from  his  knees,  to  walk  across  the  floor  and  kick  his  son 
for  going  to  sleep  during  prayers.  He  was  afterward  tried  for 
poisoning  his  wife,  but  acquitted  through  the  eloquence  of  that 
unsurpassed  orator,  Joseph  G.  Marshall. 

Of  course,  it  often  came  to  pass  in  such  a  state  of  things  that 
men  rose  to  prominence  who  had  little  education.  A  rich  dis- 
tiller, who  represented  us  in  Congress  some  years  later,  wrote  a 
letter,  full  of  blunders,  that  fell  into  the  hands  of  his  opponents. 

They  published  it,  and  he  suffered  much  ridicule.  "  F ," 

said  one  of  his  friends,  "  did  you  write  that  letter  ?  "  "  Yes," 
said  he,  "but  it  wasn't  so  bad  as  that — they  mucilated  it." 

In  all  the  period  of  darkness  and  insufficient  schools  that  pre- 
ceded my  childhood,  there  were  here  and  there  good  teachers 
in  some  of  the  villages,  and  to  the  lucky  village  that  had  a  good 
master  came  boys  and  girls  from  near  and  far — sometimes  from 
fifty  miles  away.  There  was  never  a  period  of  indifference  to 
education  in  the  Ohio  River  region — never  a  time  when  a  good 


SOME  WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS         561 

school  was  not  accounted  a  thing  of  the  greatest  value  ;  but  the 
sparse  settlement  made  schools  scarce — the  great  demand  for 
men  of  education  in  other  walks  of  life  always  makes  good 
teachers  scarce  in  a  new  country — and  the  excess  of  demand 
over  supply  in  the  matter  of  women  left  no  unmarried  young 
women  of  education  to  serve  as  schoolmistresses. 

The  earliest  female  teachers  that  I  remember,  with  one  ex- 
ception, were  the  thrifty  wives  of  New  England  settlers,  who 
knew  how  to  mind  their  children  and  turn  an  honest  dollar  by 
teaching  the  children  of  their  neighbors.  But  we  were  par- 
ticularly warned  against  New  .  England  provincialisms ;  my 
father,  who  was  a  graduate  of  William  and  Mary  in  Virginia, 
even  threatened  us  with  corporal  punishment  if  we  should 
ever  give  the  peculiar  vowel  sound  heard  in  some  parts  of  New 
England  in  such  words  as  "roof  "  and  "  root."  After  our  return 
to  the  village,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  have  some  teachers 
whom  I  remember  with  gratitude.  One  was  a  Presbyterian 
minister  from  New  England,  who,  with  his  wife — a  woman  of 
fine  ability — taught  an  excellent  school.  In  this  school  we  first 
saw  blackboards  and  similar  devices  for  teaching  in  an  intelli- 
gent way.  The  minister's  wife  kept  good  books  to  lend  to 
thoughtful  pupils,  and  her  influence  on  the  village  was  a  very 
beneficent  one.  Another  was  Jesse  Williams,  also  a  New  Eng- 
lander,  who  became  afterward  a  Methodist  minister.  These 
two  were  the  only  men  that  I  knew  in  my  boyhood  who  could 
teach  school  without  beating  their  pupils  like  oxen.  There 
was  another  New  England  minister  whose  pupil  I  was  in  one 
of  the  Indiana  cities,  who  kept  his  school  in  a  state  of  contin- 
ual terror.  This  is  a  cheap  sort  of  'discipline,  quite  possible 
to  men  who  have  not  tact  enough  to  govern  otherwise  than 
brutally. 

So  great  was  the  desire  for  education  in  Indiana,  even  at  this 
early  date,  that  before  my  memory  of  the  place  our  old  town  of 
Vevay  was  adorned  by  a  "county  seminary."  It  was  proposed 
to  educate  by  counties,  and  a  seminary  was  to  be  built  at  the 
county's  expense;  but  the  old  jealousy  between  town  and  country 

8.  M.— 36 


562  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

flamed  up.  The  people  of  the  country  were  not  going  to  pay 
taxes  to  build  a  seminary  in  town,  so  the  seminary  was  built 
outside  the  corporation  line  in  a  commanding  position  on  the 
top  of  a  steep  hill,  at  least  three  hundred  feet  high.  This  high 
school  always  reminded  me  of  the  temple  of  fame  which  did 
duty  as  frontispiece  to  Webster's  spelling  book  in  that  day, 
the  temple  being  situated  on  an  inaccessible  mountain,  at  the 
foot  of  which  an  ambitious  school-boy  stood  looking  wistfully 
up.  For  one  or  two  winters,  the  village  youth  and  the  country 
children  boarding  in  town  walked  a  mile,  and  then  scram- 
bled up  this  hard  hill ;  but  the  school  was  soon  abandoned  for 
better  schools  in  the  town,  and  the  old  brick  "  seminary  "  stands 
there  yet,  I  believe,  a  monument  of  educational  folly.  Many 
an  ambitious  modern  device  is  like  our  seminary,  useless  from 
inaccessibility. 

While  the  good  Presbyterian  minister  was  teaching  in  our 
village,  he  was  waked  up  one  winter  morning  by  a  poor  bound 
boy,  who  had  ridden  a  farm  horse  many  miles  to  get  the 
"  master "  to  show  him  how  to  "  do  a  sum  "  that  had  puzzled 
him.  The  fellow  was  trying  to  educate  himself,  but  was  re- 
quired to  be  back  at  home  in  time  to  begin  his  day's  work  as 
usual.  The  good  master,  chafing  his  hands  to  keep  them 
warm,  sat  down  by  the  boy  and  expounded  the  "  sum  "  to  him 
so  that  he  understood  it.  Then  the  poor  boy  straightened 
himself  up  and,  thrusting  his  hard  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his 
blue  jeans  trowsers,  pulled  out  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  explaining, 
with  a  blush,  that  it  was  all  he  could  pay,  for  it  was  all  he  had. 
Of  course  the  master  made  him  put  it  back,  and  told  him  to 
come  whenever  he  wanted  any  help.  I  remember  the  huski- 
ness  of  the  minister's  voice  when  he  told  us  about  it  in  school 
that  morning.  When  I  recall  how  eagerly  the  people  sought 
for  opportunities  of  education,  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  that 
Indiana,  of  all  the  states,  has  to-day  one  of  the  largest,  if  not 
the  largest,  school  fund. 

We  had  one  teacher  \vho  was,  so  far  as  natural  genius  for 
teaching  goes,  the  best  of  ill  I  have  ever  known.  Mrs.  Julia  L. 


SOME   WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS  563 

Dumont  is,  like  all  our  Western  writers  of  that  day,  except 
Prentice,  almost  entirely  forgotten.  But  in  the  time,  before 
railways,  when  the  West,  shut  in  by  the  Alleghanies,  had  an 
incipient  literature,  Mrs.  Dumont  occupied  no  mean  place  as  a 
writer  of  poetry  and  prose  tales.  Eminent  litterateurs  of  the 
time,  from  Philadelphia  and  Cincinnati,  used  to  come  to  Vevay 
to  see  her ;  but  they  themselves — these  great  lights  of  ancient 
American  literature  away  back  in  the  forties — are  also  for- 
gotten. Who  remembers  Gallagher  and  the  rest  to-day  ?  Dear 
brethren,  who  like  myself  scratch  away  to  fill  up  magazine 
pages,  and  who,  no  doubt,  like  myself  are  famous  enough  to  be 
asked  for  an  autograph,  or  a  "  sentiment "  in  an  album  some- 
times, let  us  not  boast  ourselves.  Why,  indeed,  should  the  spirit 
of  mortal  be  proud  ?  We  also  shall  be  forgotten — the  next  gen- 
eration of  school-girls  will  get  their  autographs  from  a  set  of 
upstarts  who  will  smile  at  our  stories  and  poems  as  out-of-date 
puerilities.  Some  industrious  Allibone,  making  a  cemetery  of 
dead  authors,  may  give  us,  in  his  dictionary,  three  lines  apiece 
as  a  sort  of  head-stone.  Oh,  let  us  be  humble  and  pray  that 
even  the  Allibone  that  is  to  come  may  not  forget  us.  For  I  look 
in  vain  in  Allibone  for  some  of  the  favorite  names  in  our  West- 
ern Parnassus.  It  was  not  enough  that  the  East  swallowed  that 
incipient  literature,  it  even  obliterated  the  memory  of  it.  Let 
us  hope  that  the  admirable  Mr.  Tyler,  who  has  made  to  live 
again  the  memories  of  so  many  colonial  writers,  will  revive  also 
the  memory  of  some  of  the  forgotten  authors  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley. 

Among  those  who  have  been  so  swiftly  forgotten  as  not  even 
to  have  a  place  in  Allibone,  is  my  old  and  once  locally  famous 
teacher,  Mrs.  Dumont.  We  thought  her  poem  on  "  The  Retreat 
of  the  Ten  Thousand "  admirable,  but  we  were  partial  judges. 
Her  story  of  "  Boonesborough  "  was  highly  praised  by  the 
great  lights  of  the  time.  But  her  book  of  stories  is  out  of  print, 
and  her  poems  are  forgotten,  and  so  also  are  the  great  lights 
who  admired  them.  I  do  not  pretend  that  there  was  enough 
in  these  writings  to  have  made  them  deserve  a  different  fate. 


564  EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

Ninety-nine  hundredths  of  all  good  literary  production  must  of 
necessity  be  forgotten ;  if  the  old  trees  endured  forever,  there 
would  be  no  room  for  the  new  shoots. 

But  as  a  schoolmistress,  Mrs.  Dumont  deserves  immortality. 
She  knew  nothing  of  systems,  but  she  went  unerringly  to  the 
goal  by  pure  force  of  native  genius.  In  all  her  early  life  she 
taught  because  she  was  poor ;  but  after  her  husband's  increas- 
ing property  relieved  her  from  necessity,  she  still  taught  school 
from  love  of  it.  When  she  was  past  sixty  years  old,  a  school- 
room was  built  for  her  alongside  her  residence,  which  was  one 
of  the  best  in  the  town.  It  was  here  that  I  first  knew  her,  after 
she  had  already  taught  two  generations  in  the  place.  The 
"  graded  "  schools  had  been  newly  introduced,  and  no  man  was 
found  who  could,  either  in  acquirements  or  ability,  take  pre- 
cedence of  the  venerable  schoolmistress ;  so  the  high  school  was 
given  to  her. 

I  can  see  the  wonderful  old  lady  now,  as  she  was  then,  with 
her  cape  pinned  awry,  rocking  her  splint-bottom  chair  nerv- 
ously while  she  talked.  Full  of  all  manner  of  knowledge, 
gifted  with  something  very  like  eloquence  in  speech,  abounding 
in  affection  for  her  pupils  and  enthusiasm  in  teaching,  she 
moved  us  strangely.  Being  infatuated  with  her,  we  became 
fanatic  in  our  pursuit  of  knowledge,  so  that  the  school  hours 
were  not  enough,  and  we  had  a  "  lyceum  "  in  the  evening  for 
reading  "  compositions,"  and  a  club  for  the  study  of  history. 
If  a  recitation  became  very  interesting,  the  entire  school  would 
sometimes  be  drawn  into  the  discussion  of  the  subject ;  all  other 
lessons  went  to  the  wall,  books  of  reference  were  brought  out  of 
her  library,  hours  were  consumed,  and  many  a  time  the  school 
session  was  prolonged  until  darkness  forced  us  reluctantly  to 
adjourn. 

Mrs.  Dumont  was  the  ideal  of  a  teacher  because  she  suc- 
ceeded in  forming  character.  She  gave  her  pupils  unstinted 
praise,  not  hypocritically,  but  because  she  lovingly  saw  the  best 
in  every  one.  We  worked  in  the  sunshine.  A  dull  but  indus- 
trious pupil  was  praised  for  diligence,  a  bright  pupil  for  ability, 


SOME  WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS        565 

a  good  one  for  general  excellence.  The  dullards  got  more 
than  their  share,  for  knowing  how  easily  such  an  one  is  dis- 
heartened, Mrs.  Dumont  went  out  of  her  way  to  praise  the  first 
show  of  success  in  a  slow  scholar.  She  treated  no  two  alike. 
She  was  full  of  all  sorts  of  knack  and  tact,  a  person  of  infinite 
resource  for  calling  out  the  human  spirit.  She  could  be  in- 
credibly severe  when  it  was  needful,  and  no  overgrown  boy 
whose  meanness  had  once  been  analyzed  by  Mrs.  Dumont  ever 
forgot  it. 

I  remember  one  boy  with  whom  she  had  taken  some  pains. 
One  day  he  wrote  an  insulting  word  about  one  of  the  girls  of 
the  school  on  the  door  of  a  deserted  house.  Two  of  us  were 
deputized  by  the  other  boys  to  defend  the  girl  by  complaining 
of  him.  Mrs.  Dumont  took  her  seat  and  began  to  talk  to  him 
before  the  school.  The  talking  was  all  there  was  of  it,  but  I 
think  I  never  pitied  any  human  being  more  than  I  did  that 
boy  as  she  showed  him  his  vulgarity  and  his  meanness,  and,  as 
at  last  in  the  climax  of  her  indignation,  she  called  him  "  a 
miserable  hawbuck."  At  another  time  when  she  had  picked  a 
piece  of  paper  from  the  floor  with  a,  bit  of  profanity  written  on 
it,  she  talked  about  it  until  the  whole  school  detected  the 
author  by  the  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead. 

When  I  had  written  a  composition  on  "  The  Human  Mind  " 
based  on  Combe's  Phrenology,  and  adorned  with  quotations 
from  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  she  gave  me  to  read  the  old 
Encyclopedia  Britannica  containing  an  article  expounding  the 
Hartleian  system  of  mental  philosophy,  and  followed  this  with 
Locke  on  the  "  Conduct  of  the  Understanding."  She  was  the 
only  teacher  I  have  known  who  understood  that  school  studies 
were  entirely  secondary  to  general  reading  as  a  source  of  cul- 
ture, and  who  put  the  habit  of  good  reading  first  in  the  list  of 
acquirements. 

There  was  a  rack  for  hats  and  cloaks  so  arranged  as  to  cut 
off  a  portion  of  the  school  from  the  teacher's  sight.  Some  of 
the  larger  girls  who  occupied  this  space  took  advantage  of  their 
concealed  position  to  do  a  great  deal  of  talking  and  tittering 


566  EDWARD  EGGLE8TON 

which  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Dumont's  watchfulness.  But  in  the 
extreme  corner  of  the  room  was  the  seat  of  the  excellent  Dru- 

silla  H ,  who  had  never  violated  a  rule  of  the  school.  To 

reprimand  the  others,  while  excepting  her,  would  have  excited 
jealousy. and  complaints.  The  girls  who  sat  in  that  part  of  the 
room  were  detained  after  school  and  treated  to  one  of  Mrs. 
Dumont's  tender  but  caustic  lectures  on  the  dishonorableness  of 
secret  ill-doing.  Drusilla  bore  silently  her  share  of  the  reproof. 
But  at  the  last  the  schoolmistress  said : 

"  Now,  my  dears,  it  may  be  that  there  is  some  one  among 
you  not  guilty  of  misconduct.  If  there  is  I  know  I  can  trust  you 
to  tell  me  who  is  not  to  blame." 

"  Drusilla  never  talks,"  they  all  said  at  once,  while  Drusilla, 
girl  like,  fell  to  crying. 

But  the  most  remarkable  illustration  of  Mrs.  Dumont's  skill 
in  matters  of  discipline  was  shown  in  a  case  in  which  all  the 
boys  of  the  school  were  involved,  and  were  for  a  short  time 
thrown  into  antagonism  to  a  teacher  whose  ascendancy  over 
them  had  been  complete. 

We  were  playing  "  town-ball "  on  the  common  at  a  long  dis- 
tance from  the  schoolroom.  Town-ball  is  one  of  the  old  games 
from  which  the  more  scientific  but  not  half  so  amusing 
"  national  game  "  of  base-ball  has  since  been  evolved.  In  that 
day  the  national  game  was  not  thought  of.  Eastern  youth 
played  field-base,  and  Western  boys  town-ball  in  a  free  and 
happy  way,  with  soft  balls,  primitive  bats,  and  no  nonsense. 
There  were  no  scores,  but  a  catch  or  a  cross-out  in  town-ball 
put  the  whole  side  out,  leaving  the  others  to  take  the  bat  or 
"  paddle  "  as  it  was  appropriately  called.  The  very  looseness  of 
the  game  gave  opportunity  for  many  ludicrous  mischances  and 
surprising  turns  which  made  it  a  most  joyous  play. 

Either  because  the  wind  was  blowing  adversely  or  because 
the  play  was  more  than  commonly  interesting,  we  failed  to  hear 
the  ringing  of  Mrs.  Dumont's  hand-bell  at  one  o'clock.  The 
afternoon  wore  on  until  more  than  an  hour  of  school-time 
had  passed,  when  some  one  suddenly  bethought  himself.  We 


SOME  WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS         567 

dropped  the  game  and  started,  pell-mell,  full  of  consternation 
for  the  schoolroom.  We  would  at  that  moment  have  preferred 
to  face  an  angry  schoolmaster  with  his  birchen  rod  than  to 
have  offended  one  whom  we  reverenced  so  much. 

The  girls  all  sat  in  their  places ;  the  teacher  was  sitting  silent 
and  awful  in  her  rocking-chair;  in  the  hour  and  a  half  no 
lessons  had  been  recited.  We  shuffled  into  our  seats  and 
awaited  the  storm.  It  was  the  high  school,  and  the  boys  were 
mostly  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age,  but  the  schoolmistress  had 
never  a  rod  in  the  room.  Such  weapons  are  for  people  of 
fewer  resources  than  she.  Very  quietly  she  talked  to  us,  but 
with  great  emphasis.  She  gave  no  chance  for  explanation  or 
apology.  She  was  hopelessly  hurt  and  affronted.  We  had 
humiliated  her  before  the  whole  town,  she  said.  She  should 
take  away  from  us  the  morning  and  afternoon  recess  for  a 
week.  She  would  demand  an  explanation  from  us  to-morrow. 

It  was  not  possible  that  a  company  of  boys  could  be  kept  for 
half  an  hour  in  such  a  moral  sweat-box  as  that  to  which  she 
treated  us  without  growing  angry.  When  school  was  dismissed 
we  held  a  running  indignation  meeting  as  we  walked  toward 
home.  Of  course  we  all  spoke  at  once.  But  after  awhile  the 
more  moderate  saw  that  the  teacher  had  some  reason.  Never- 
theless, one  boy  was  appointed  to  draft  a  written  reply  that 
should  set  forth  our  injured  feelings.  I  remember  in  what  per- 
plexity that  committee  found  himself.  With  every  hour  he 
felt  more  and  more  that  the  teacher  was  right  and  the  boys 
wrong,  and  that  by  the  next  morning  the  reviving  affection  of 
the  scholars  for  the  beloved  and  venerated  schoolmistress  would 
cause  them  to  appreciate  this.  So  that  the  address  which  was 
presented  for  their  signatures  did  not  breathe  much  indigna- 
tion. I  can  almost  recall  every  word  of  that  somewhat  pompous 
but  very  sincere  petition.  It  was  about  as  I  give  it  here : 

"  HONORED  MADAM  : 

In  regard  to  our  offence  of  yesterday  we  beg  that  you  will  do  us  the 
justice  to  believe  that  it  was  not  intentional.  We  do  not  ask  you  to 
remit  the  punishment  you  have  inflicted  in  taking  away  our  recess, 


568  EDWARD   EOGLESTON 

but  we  do  ask  you  to  remit  the  heavier  penalty  we  have  incurred,  your 
own  displeasure." 

The  boys  all  willingly  signed  this  except  one,  who  was  per- 
haps the  only  conscious  offender  in  that  party.  He  confessed 
that  he  had  observed  that  the  sun  was  "  getting  a  little  slant- 
ing" while  we  were  at  play,  but  as  his  side  "  had  the  paddles" 
he  did  not  say  anything  until  they  were  put  out.  The  unwill- 
ing boy  wanted  more  indignation  in  the  address,  and  he 
wanted  the  recess  back.  But  when  all  the  others  had  signed  he 
did  not  dare  leave  his  name  off,  but  put  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
list. 

With  trembling  hands  we  gave  the  paper  to  the  schoolmis- 
tress. How  some  teachers  would  have  used  such  a  paper  as  a 
means  of  further  humiliation  to  the  offenders !  How  few  could 
have  used  it  as  she  did !  The  morning  wore  on  without  recess. 
The  lessons  were  heard  as  usual.  As  the  noon  hour  drew  near, 
Mrs.  Dumont  rose  from  her  chair  and  went  into  the  library.  We 
all  felt  that  something  was  going  to  happen.  She  came  out  with 
a  copy  of  Shakspere,  which  she  opened  at  the  fourth  scene  of 
the  fourth  act  of  the  second  part  of  "  King  Henry  IV."  Giving 
the  book  to  my  next  neighbor  and  myself  she  bade  us  read  the 
scene,  alternating  with  the  change  of  speaker.  You  remember 
the  famous  dialogue  in  that  scene  between  the  dying  king  and 
the  prince  who  has  prematurely  taken  the  crown  from  the  bed- 
side of  the  sleeping  king.  It  was  all  wonderfully  fresh  to  us 
and  to  our  schoolmates,  whose  interest  was  divided  between  the 
scene  and  a  curiosity  as  to  the  use  the  teacher  meant  to  make 
of  it.  At  length  the  reader  ,who  took  the  king's  part  read : 

"  O  my  son  ! 

Heaven  put  it  in  thy  mind  to  take  it  hence, 
That  thou  mightst  win  the  more  thy  father's  love, 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of  it." 

Then  she  took  the  book  and  closed  it.  The  application  was 
evident  to  all,  but  she  made  us  a  touching  little  speech  full  of 
affection,  and  afterward  restored  the  recess.  She  detained  the 


SOME  WESTERN  SCHOOLMASTERS         569 

girls  when  we  had  gone  to  read  to  them  the  address,  that  she 
might  "  show  them  what  noble  brothers  they  had."  Without 
doubt  she  made  overmuch  of  our  nobleness.  But  no  one  knew 
better  than  Mrs.  Dumont  that  the  surest  way  of  evoking  the 
best  in  ma'n  or  boy,  is  to  make  the  most  of  the  earliest  symp- 
toms of  it.  From  that  hour  our  schoolmistress  had  our  whole 
hearts  ;  we  loved  her  and  reverenced  her ;  we  were  thoughtless 
enough,  but  for  the  most  of  us,  her  half-suspected  wish  was  a 
supreme  law. 

So,  after  all,  it  does  not  matter  that  the  world  no  longer 
reads  her  stories  or  remembers  her  poems.  Her  life  always 
seemed  to  me  a  poem,  or  something  better  than  a  poem.  It 
does  not  matter,  fellow-scribblers,  that  the  generation  to  come 
shall  forget  us  and  go  to  upstart  fellows  of  another  generation 
for  autograph  verses  for  church  fairs  and  charity  bazaars.  It 
does  not  matter  greatly,  dear,  aspiring  young  reader,  whether 
you  ever  succeed  in  getting  your  poetry  embalmed  in  "  Scribner  " 
or  not.  I  cannot  read  an  old  magazine  of  forty  years  ago  with- 
out a  laugh — and  almost  a  tear — over  the  airs  those  notabilities 
of  a  day  gave  themselves.  How  sure  they  were  of  immortality, 
and  how  utterly  forgotten  are  the  most  of  them,  like  last  year's 
burdock,  that  boasted  itself  so  proudly  in  the  fence-row !  But 
whether  you  print  your  story  or  poem  or  not,  blessed  are  you 
if  you  put  heroism  into  your  life,  so  that  the  memory  of  it  shall 
refresh  some  weary  wayfarer  long  after  the  fickle  public  has 
forgotten  your  work. 


D'ARCY  WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

18  29 

D'ARCY  WENTWORTH  THOMPSON  was  born  in  County  Cumberland, 
in  North  England,  in  1829.  He  received  his  early  education  at  a 
famous  school  in  London,  known  as  the  Hospital.  His  college  days 
were  passed  at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  For  twelve  years  or  more 
he  was  classical  master  in  the  Edinburgh  Academy.  In  1864  he  was 
appointed  professor  of  Greek  in  Queen's  College,  in  Galway,  Ireland, 
which  position  he  still  holds. 

While  at  Edinburgh,  Professor  Thompson  wrote  the  "Day-dreams 
of  a  Schoolmaster,"  which  was  well  received,  and  early  attracted  at- 
tention in  America,  for  its  expression  of  radical  views  on  the  teaching 
of  ancient  languages.  In  1867  he  was  invited  to  deliver  a  series  of 
lectures  on  education  at  the  Lowell  Institute,  in  Boston.  He  complied, 
and  the  lectures  were  subsequently  published  under  the  title,  "Way- 
side Thoughts."  Among  other  works  by  Professor  Thompson  are 
"Ancient  Leaves,"  "Sales  Attici;  or,  the  Wit  and  Wisdom  of  the 
Athenian  Drama,"  and  "Scalae  Novae;  or,  A  Ladder  to  Latin." 

Characterization 

Professor  D'Arcy  Thompson  has  several  first-rate  qualifications  for 
the  work  which  he  has  undertaken.  He  knows  the  nature  of  boys, 
and  is  in  full  sympathy  with  them.  He  also  knows  Latin  thoroughly, 
thinks  in  it,  and  writes  it  with  great  elegance.  He  has  also  thought 
with  original  power  on  the  philosophy  of  language,  is  always  in  search 
of  explanations,  and  is  eager  to  bring  everything  out  of  the  realms  of 
unreason.  All  these  qualities  make  themselves  visible  in  the  book 
before  us.  At  the  same  time,  great  moderation  is  shown  in  hazarding 
explanations  or  dismissing  irrational  rules. 

"ENGLISH  JOURNAL  OF  EDUCATION." 
570 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  671 

Day-Dreams  of  a  Schoolmaster 

(Abbreviated) 
I. 

THE  UNDER  FORM  AT  ST.  EDWARD'S,   AND  THE  THEORY  OF 
ELEMENTARY  UNINTELLIGIBILITY 

This  day — October  10th,  1863 — my  Junior  Class,  in  the 
Schola  Nova 1  of  Dunedin,2  had  its  first  lesson  in  Greek ;  put 
aside  its  frock  and  linen  pants,  and  donned  its  breeches,  intel- 
lectually. No  transition  state  is  agreeable  to  the  subject,  or 
graceful  in  the  eyes  of  a  looker-on.  These  little  fellows  will 
all  waddle,  duck-like,  for  a  considerable  period  in  their  new 
clothes :  some  will  never  habituate  themselves  thereto ;  but  will 
by  and  by  discard  them  and  return  to  the  frock  and  linen 
pants ;  affording,  it  may  be,  a  passing  laugh  to  the  unphilo- 
sophic  bystander,  but  themselves  deriving  permanent  comfort 
and  unrestricted  swing  of  limb. 

The  step  these  innocents  take  to-day  is,  of  course,  a  step  into 
the  dark.  Will  the  darkness,  into  which  they  so  confidingly 
plunge,  be  to  them  perpetual  and  Cimmerian  ?  or  will  it  duly 
break  into  a  clear,  bright  dawn  ?  Within  three  years  the  ma- 
jority of  them  will  have  probably  passed  from  within  these 
walls.  What  an  opportunity  is  meanwhile  afforded  of  wreaking 
upon  their  little  heads  summary  vengeance  for  the  wrongs  done 
me  by  a  past  generation  ! — of  doing  to  them  as  I  was  done  by  ! 
Not  only  should  I  thus  be  giving  vent  to  my  indignation  for 
past  ill-usage ;  but,  strange  to  say,  I  should  actually  be  carry- 
ing out  the  wishes  of  the  parents  of  my  victims ;  for,  in  general, 
those  parents  dread  new-fangled  ways,  and  cling  piously  to  old 
scholastic  superstitions.  Well,  for  three  years,  then,  let  me 
lead  this  little  flock,  blind-folded,  by  curiously  sinuous  and  zig- 
zag ways ;  so  that,  always  in  motion,  they  may  never  progress ; 

J  new  school  a  a  poetic  name  for  Edinburgh 


572  D'ARCT   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

and  at  the  close  of  the  triennium,  remove  the  bandage  from 
their  eyes,  and  show  them,  to  their  wonderment,  that  they  are 
standing  by  the  starting-post;  that  they  have  been  dancing 
their  Greek  hornpipe  on  a  plate. 

This  first  lesson  has  turned  back  the  dial-hand  of  my  days, 
and  for  a  passing  hour  I  am  standing  in  the  dawn  of  my  own 
most  dreary,  weary  boyhood. 

I  was  not  quite  seven  and  a  half  years  old  when  my  dear 
mother  was  presented  with  a  free  admission  for  myself,  her 
eldest  son,  to  the  Grammar  School  of  St.  Edward.  The  offer 
was  too  valuable  an  one  to  admit  of  refusal.  I  was  accordingly 
prepared  for  admission  to  my  new  home,  by  having  my  hair 
somewhat  closely  shorn,  and  by  being  clothed  in  a  long,  blue 
gown,  not  of  itself  ungraceful,  but  opening  in  front  so  as  to  dis- 
close the  ridiculous  spectacle  of  knee-breeched,  yellow-stock- 
inged legs.  After  some  laughter  at  my  disguise,  and  much 
weeping  at  my  banishment,  I  bade  good-bye  to  my  dear 
mother.  We  little  thought  at  the  time  that  school  was  to  be 
my  home  for  twelve  long  years. 

The  day  after  my  entry  into  this  colossal  institution,  a  Latin 
grammar  was  placed  into  my  hands.  It  was  a  bulky  book  of 
its  kind :  considering  the  diminutiveness  of  the  new  student,  a 
portentously  bulky  book.  It  was  bulky  in  consequence  of  its 
comprehensiveness.  It  gave  all  imaginable  rules,  and  all 
imaginable  exceptions.  It  had  providentially  stored  within  it 
the  requisite  gear  for  whatever  casualty  might  befall  us.  The 
syntax  rules,  in  the  edition  presented  to  me,  were,  for  the  first 
time,  rendered  mercifully  in  English :  those  for  gender  and 
quantity  remained  in  the  old  Latin ;  and  the  Latin  was  com- 
municated in  a  hideously  discordant  rhythm.  Over  a  space  of 
years  we  went  systematically  through  and  through  that  book ; 
page  after  page,  chapter  after  chapter.  It  was  all  unintelligible ; 
all  obscure  ;  but  some  spots  were  wrapt  in  more  than  ordinary 
gloom.  Our  chronic  bewilderment  was  varied  from  time  to 
time  by  shooting  pains,  brought  on  by  some  passage  or  expres- 
sion unusually  indigestible.  We  read  of  creatures,  happily  few 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  578 

in  number,  that  went  about  in  the  Epicsene  Gender.  Were 
they  fish,  flesh  or  fowl?  Would  the  breed  be  ever  extinct? 
Under  certain  desperate  circumstances  a  participle  and  a  noun 
together  were  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  put  into  the  Ablative 
Absolute.  What  had  they  done  to  be  treated  in  a  manner  thus 
peremptory,  unreasonable,  crotchety?  Did  they  ever  get  out 
after  being  once  put  in  ?  Then  there  were  gerunds  in  Di,  Do, 
and  Dum.  How  they  recalled  to  us  the  old  Fee,  Fi,  Fo,  Fum, 
and  the  smell  of  English  blood !  And  supines  in  Um  and  U. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  these  cabalistic  names  ?  I  did  not 
know  then ;  and  I  do  not  know  now.  And  yet  I  have  been 
behind  the  scholastic  curtain  for  twelve  long  years. 

There  was  no  entire  chapter  in  the  book  more  broken  with 
pitfalls  than  that,  composed  in  doggerel,  which  treated  of  the 
rules  for  gender.  Not  one  word,  I  am  sure,  of  an  exception- 
able kind  had  escaped  the  diabolic  ken  of  the  compiler.  String 
upon  string  of  jangling,  unmusical  lines  could  we  repeat  with 
a  singular  rapidity;  understanding  nothing;  asking  no  ques- 
tions. Oh,  the  sweet,  simple  faith  of  childhood !  We  had  been 
told  to  commit  those  lines  to  memory,  and  we  committed  them. 
They  would,  doubtless,  do  us  good  in  the  latter  days.  We 
should,  at  all  events,  be  flogged  there  and  then,  unless  we  sang 
them  like  caged  birds.  It  was  the  will  of  Allah :  Allah  was 
good. 

Many  of  the  words  in  that  puzzling  liturgy  I  have  never 
fallen  in  with  since,  though  I  have  been  a  student  of  its  dialect 
for  twenty-seven  years.  Some  of  the  words  I  have  since  dis- 
covered to  be  grossly  indecent  in  their  naked  English  meaning. 
Well,  well :  they  might  have  all  been  so,  without  doing  more 
harm  to  our  morality,  than  they  did  good  to  our  understand- 
ings. I  can  vividly  recollect  one  circumstance,  that  broke  in  a 
startling  manner  to  me  the  dull  monotony  of  these  years.  It 
was  a  hot  and  sultry  afternoon.  My  wits  were  wandering,  I 
suppose  in  green  fields.  So,  in  class-time  when  my  turn  came 
round,  my  brain  was  a  tabula  rasa : l  the  inscription  was  clean 

1  a  blank  tablet 


574  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

wiped  out,  that  had  been  carefully  written  there  but  half  an 
hour  before.  The  master,  a  clergyman,  had  broken  his  cane 
upon  a  previous  delinquent  ;  his  riding-  whip  was  sent  for,  and 
I  received  ten  lashes  on  my  two  hands.  I  was  then  under  nine 
years  of  age.  For  a  passing  bewilderment  I  was  treated  as 
though  I  had  broken  into  an  orchard.  Our  master  was  shortly 
after,  if  I  mistake  not,  presented  to  a  vicarage  :  he  was  in  ap- 
pearance almost  effeminately  genteel;  in  dress,  scrupulously 
neat  ;  with  fingers  tapering  and  delicate  as  a  lady's. 

The  round-shot  of  a  Latin  grammar  had  been,  I  believe, 
tied  to  our  legs,  to  prevent  our  intellectually  straying.  How- 
ever, in  course  of  time  we  became  habituated  to  the  incum- 
brance,  and  ceased  to  feel  it  as  a  serious  check  upon  our 
movements.  The  hour  at  length  arrived  in  which  it  was 
considered  wise  to  attach  another  round-shot  to  our  other  legs. 
This  was  done  accordingly  in  the  shape  of  a  Greek  grammar, 
written  entirely  in  Latin.  This  extra  weight  answered  the  pur- 
pose effectually  :  we  were  all  brought  to  an  immediate  stand- 
still. 

I  have  sometimes  thought,  in  a  charitable  mood,  that  the 
compiler  of  this  book  —  Heaven  forgive  him  !  to  word  it  mildly 
—  composed  it  originally  for  such  students  as  might  be  famil- 
iar with  the  tongue  in  which  it  was  written.  My  comrades  and 
I  were  not  in  that  condition.  We  had  to  grapple  with  the 
difficulties  of  one  unknown  tongue  through  the  medium  of 
another  tongue  almost  equally  unknown.  We  were,  in  fact, 
required  to  give  a  determinate  solution  to  an  indeterminable 
problem.  We  had  set  us  the  equation  : 


and  were  called  upon  to  give  the  values  of  x  and  y  in  terms  of 
constants  to  be  manufactured  by  ourselves.  It  was  the  old, 
old  story.  Bricks  without  straw.  "  Ye  are  idle,"  said  the 
taskmasters.  So  they  took  away  our  scanty  wisps  ;  but  dimin- 
ished naught  of  the  tale  of  bricks  as  heretofore. 

I  have  heard  the  system  casuistically  defended  by  men  who, 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A  SCHOOLMASTER  575 

old  prejudices  apart,  were  intelligent  and  sagacious.  "The 
abstract  rules  of  grammar,"  said  they,  "  are  at  first  above  the 
comprehension  of  all  children.  Even  if  they  be  worded  in  the 
mother-tongue,  it  will  be  long  before  their  true  and  full  signifi- 
cance is  apprehended.  If,  then,  these  rules  be  communicated 
in  a  strange  language,  the  very  difficulty  surmounted  in  com- 
mitting them  to  memory  will  imprint  them  the  more  lastingly 
on  their  understandings." 

Now  it  would  occur  to  me — but  my  simplicity  may  be  to 
blame — that  if  subjects,  concrete  or  abstract,  be  beyond  a  boy's 
comprehension,  the  less  he  has  to  do  with  them  the  better. 
We  never  ask  an  errand-boy  to  carry  a  weight  we  know  he  can- 
not lift.  Might  not  the  communication  of  such  subjects  be 
deferred  to  a  period  when,  by  a  process  of  training,  a  boy's 
intellect  were  rendered  capable  of  grasping  them  ?  Or,  again, 
at  the  expense  of  a  little  time  and  trouble,  might  not  the  major- 
ity of  grammatical  rules  be  so  simply  worded  and  so  familiarly 
illustrated,  as  to  be  brought  home  to  the  intelligence  of  boys  of 
ordinary  capacity?  I  grant  the  difficulty,  if  we  persist  in 
using  unintelligible  terms,  as  Gerunds,  Supines,  Aorists,  and  the 
like ;  and  rules  that  would  be  awkwardly  enough  worded,  even 
if  they  were  correct  in  substance. 

But  for  the  sake  of  argument,  let  us  admit  the  defense  put 
forward  for  the  old  system  of  Elementary  Unintelligibility. 
Then,  surely,  we  may  push  it  to  its  logical  issues.  All  will 
allow  morality  to  be  higher  than  grammar.  It  is,  consequently, 
a  more  important  task  to  imprint  upon  the  minds  of  our 
children  the  rules  of  the  former  than  the  rules  of  the  latter. 
But  what  will  serve  to  imprint  indelibly  the  rules  of  one  science, 
will  serve  also  to  imprint  the  rules  of  another ;  supposing  that, 
for  the  time,  it  be  unnecessary  that  either  set  of  rules  be  under- 
stood. Then  why  not  communicate  the  Ten  Commandments 
through  the  medium  of  Chinese?  Or,  if  that  method  be  found 
insufficiently  irksome  and  tedious,  why  not  improve  upon  the 
method,  by  rendering  it  physically  painful  ?  Might  we  not 
inculcate  each  portion  of  the  Decalogue  with  the  aid  of  a  pin, 


576  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

and  imprint  it  upon  the  memory  of  childhood  by  associating  it 
with  pricks  upon  some  sensitive  portion  of  the  frame  ?  In  this 
simple  manner,  we  might  literally  fasten  a  whole  system  of 
ethics  and  grammar  upon  the  bodies  as  well  as  the  brains  of 
our  little  ones.  The  system  might  be  extended  to  our  univer- 
sity course  ;  and  a  petty  domestic  instrument  might  prove  a 
weapon  of  power  in  the  hands  of  an  energetic  professor  of 
chemistry,  logic,  or  metaphysics  !  Our  academic  youth  would 
go  out  into  the  world,  tattooed  with  the  records  of  their  educa- 
tion. A  man's  own  skin  —  and  sometimes  even  that  would  be 
of  the  old  material  —  would  be  his  portable  diploma. 

But  to  return  to  our  Greek  grammar  written  in  Latin.  Day 
after  day  our  clerical  Sphinx  propounded  the  mysterious 
enigma.  When  is  a  door  not  a  door  f  was  the  simple  conun- 
drum that  confounded  us.  It  was  set  us  in  the  language  of  the 
Cumsean  Sibyl,  and  the  solution  was  to  be  given  in  that  of  the 
Pythian  Apollo.  Day  after  day  a  victim  fell  ; 

atel  8k  nvgal  VEHVOOV  uaiovro 


When  I  escaped  from  Thebes,  no  (Edipus  had  appeared.  I 
wonder  if  the  Sphinx  is  at  the  old  work  still. 

For  five  years  —  and  five  years  make  a  hole  in  one's  school- 
time,  not  to  say  in  one's  life  —  for  five  dreary  years  the  process 
went  on.  We  committed  daily  to  memory  some  page  or  half- 
page  of  the  sacred  but  unintelligible  book.  We  revised  it,  and 
we  re-revised  it  again  and  again.  To  lisp  its  contents  seemed 
as  natural  as  respiration.  We  could  repeat  glibly  most  per- 
plexing declensions  and  conjugations;  contracts  of  all  kinds; 
changes  Attic,  Ionic,  and  Molic  ;  verbs  in  oo  and  verbs  in  /«  ; 
rules  of  syntax,  prosody,  and  construction,  which  no  one  seemed 
called  upon  to  understand  at  the  time,  and  to  which,  in  their 
Latin  form,  no  one  was,  to  my  knowledge,  ever  referred  after- 
wards. 

So  far  did  Greek  accommodate  itself  to  ordinary  views,  that 
we  occasionally  caught  glimpses  of  such  familiar  friends  as 
1  And  ever  the  crowded  pyres  of  the  dead  kept  burning.  (From  the  "  Iliad.") 


DAY-DREAMS    OF  A    SCHOOLMASTER  577 

nouns,  and  verbs,  and  prepositions,  and  the  like.  But  here  the 
condescension  ceased.  Ever  and  anon  came  looming  through 
the  Latin  fog  strange  forms,  gigantic,  spectral;  Heteroclites, 
Paradigms,  Asynartetuses,  Syzygies ;  Augments,  temporal  and 
syllabic.  The  former  seemed  to  embody  some  dim  records  of 
a  pre-Adamite  state;  mystic  allusions  to  bygone  Mammoths, 
Behemoths,  Ichthyosauri ;  under  the  latter  twain  seemed  to  lurk 
an  allegory  of  the  connection  between  Church  and  State. 

It  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  conversant  with  a  noble  language, 
unknown  to  all  around  us,  to  our  nearest  kin.  It  conveys  an 
undefined  idea  of  wealth  and  power.  We  travel  where  they 
cannot  travel.  We  visit  at  great  houses,  and  leave  them  stand- 
ing at  the  door.  We  stand  in  sunlight  on  the  hill-top,  while 
they  are  groping  in  the  valley.  We  wield  with  ease  a  mighty 
flail  of  thought,  which  they  cannot  uplift  with  both  hands. 
Yes,  we  may  reasonably  be  proud  of  the  capability  of  speak- 
ing, maybe  of  thinking  in  a  foreign  tongue.  But  it  is  either 
superlatively  sublime,  or  superlatively  ridiculous,  to  speak  for 
years  a  language  unintelligible  to  one's  self. 

But  before  quitting  forever  the  old  Under  Form,  let  me  say 
that  my  quarrel  has  been  with  a  system  and  not  with  persons. 
The  only  unfeeling  man  under  whom  I  had  been  placed  was 
the  genteel  clergyman  of  the  riding-whip.  My  other  masters 
were  good  and  kindly  men,  who  went  according  to  order  through 
a  dull  routine,  believing  in  it  most  probably,  and  quite  power- 
less from  their  position,  if  not  also  from  their  abilities,  to  modify 
it  to  any  material  extent.  One  of  them,  before  passing  further, 
I  must  specially  recall.  He  was  the  only  classical  usher ;  the 
only  classical  authority  not  in  orders ;  a  tall,  gigantically  tall 
and  muscular  Scotchman,  of  the  name  of  Ramsay.  He  was 
also  the  only  classical  teacher  without  a  cane.  He  used  a  strap ; 
Scotice, 1  the  tawse.  Was  it  because  he  was  only  an  usher  and  a 
layman  ? — or  was  it  a  kindly  record  of  his  own  more  merciful 
training  in  his  dear  native  land?  Good  soul:  even"  in  the 
using  of  this  innocuous  instrument  he  kept  his  elbow  on  the 

1  in  Scotch 
s.  M.— 37 


578  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

desk,  to  spare  us  the  full  sweep  of  his  tremendous  arm.  There 
was  a  silly  legend  current  among  us,  founded  only  on  his  phys- 
ical strength,  that  the  cane  had  been  denied  him,  after  his  hav- 
ing once  cut  unintentionally  through  a  boy's  hand — an  idle 
myth,  that  wrapped  a  possibility  in  specious  falsehood.  To  see 
the  huge  torso  towering  above  the  comparatively  puny  desk,  it 
was  like  the  figure-head  of  a  man-of-war.  Why,  with  a  cane 
the  man  could  have  hewn  a  beadle  to  the  chine,  and  with  a 
birch  have  minced  us  mannikins  to  collops.  I  wonder  if  he 
had  an  ancestor  at  Bannockburn :  such  an  one,  I  could  imag- 
ine, with  a  great  two-handed  sword,  would  have  chopped  off 
English  heads  like  turnips.  I  have  an  indistinct  idea  of  there 
having  been  something  very  soft  and  tender  in  the  domestic 
relations  of  that  biggest  and  best  of  ushers. 

But,  farewell !  good,  kindly  usher !  and  farewell !  good  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Under  Form ! — ye  deserved  a  better  fate  than  the 
fate  of  Sisyphus  bolides. 


III. 


THE  HELLENISTS 

I  have  been  dubbed  Hellenist.  Nay,  never  start,  reader :  I 
am  too  proud  to  be  conceited.  There :  you  need  not  stand  un- 
covered. I  am  invested  with  the  Latin  Order  of  the  Garter, 
and  the  Greek  Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  I  am  standing  on 
a  peak  in  Darien,  and  staring  at  a  new  Pacific,  broad  and  blue, 
wherein  lie  happy  islands.  I  have  reached  the  zenith  of  all 
boyish  hopes ;  surely,  henceforth  my  path  will  slope  downwards 
to  the  grave.  I  am  self-poised,  self-centered.  All  pettiness  of 
vanity  is  swallowed  up  in  an  absorbing  contentment  and  pride. 
For  three  years  I  shall  pace  the  old,  shadowy  cloisters ;  then 
for  as  many  years  shall  I  walk  the  garden  of  Academus ;  and 
then  pass  into  the  great  world  by  one  of  two  roads;  and  at  the 
end  of  one  road  I  can  dimly  see  men  with  gray  wigs  and  silk 
gowns  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  other,  a  circle  of  reverend  elders 


DAT-DREAMS   Off  A   SCHOOLMASTER  579 

with  white  lawn  sleeves.  0  Phaeton,  Phaeton,  your  head  is 
turning  giddy ! 

To  descend,  then,  from  my  dizzy  flight.  I  am  in  the  middle 
of  my  seventeenth  year.  I  have  had  nine  years  of  classical  drill- 
ing. All  that  I  have  as  yet  learnt  might  very  easily,  indeed, 
have  heen  acquired,  had  I  commenced  in  my  thirteenth  instead 
of  in  my  eighth  year,  and  had  the  system  of  instruction  been 
natural  and  easy  instead  of  being  unnatural  and  difficult.  This 
I  state  unhesitatingly,  after  having  twice  carried  a  class  through 
the  whole  of  a  school  curriculum  of  seven  years. 

Had  it  been  my  lot  now  to  leave  school,  I  should  have  carried 
away  a  rather  pleasant  remembrance  of  my  first  usher,  and  an 
affectionate  remembrance  of  but  one  master,  Delille.  It  was 
only  in  the  Hellenist  class  that  I  came  to  love  and  venerate 
Rice,  to  love  and  admire  Webster.  Speaking  from  the  light  of 
subsequent  experience,  I  believe  no  school  in  the  world  ever 
had,  or  ever  will  have,  a  trio  of  masters  to  surpass  the  trio  I 
here  mention.  Let  me  pause  for  a  moment,  to  portray  them  in 
few  but  loving  words. 

Delille,  our  master  of  French,  was  a  tall  and  powerfully  built 
man,  with  a  fresh  and  ruddy  complexion,  and  a  manly  carriage. 
His  temper  was  imperturbably  good,  his  sense  of  humor  in- 
fectious. He  had  no  vulgar  instrument  of  punishment;  but 
by  his  noble  presence  and  the  unseen  farce  of  his  character,  he 
could  maintain  the  strictest  order  in  classes  numbering  above 
a  hundred  pupils.  He  spoke  our  language  without  a  flaw  of 
accent ;  it  was  only  by  an  occasional  hyper-correctness  of  hither 
for  here  that  one  could  detect  the  foreigner.  His  classes  were 
held  out  of  the  usual  school-hours,  sometimes  even  on  half-holi- 
days ;  and  for  all  that,  they  were  the  pleasantest  classes  in  the 
under  school.  His  severest  mode  of  punishment  was  to  set  a 
fable  of  La  Fontaine  to  be  committed  to  memory.  You  were 
not  released  until  it  had  been  repeated  without  one  single 
break ;  and  you  generally  left  him,  exasperated  a  little  at  the 
loss  of  play,  but  laughing  perforce  at  some  grave  piece  of  badi- 
nage with  which  he  had  dismissed  you. 


580  D'ARCY   WBNTWOKT3  THOMPSON 

I  knew  him  afterwards  as  a  friend,  and  guest,  and  host.  And 
what  a  companion  he  was  at  table  or  over  a  cigar !  He  was, 
like  his  compatriots,  bon  vivant ; *  and  as  good  a  judge  of  wine 
as  any  member  of  a  London  club.  He  had  a  splendid  voice  for 
declamation  or  singing  ;  was  an  admirable  after-dinner  speaker 
in  either  French  or  English  ;  could  sing  a  song  of  Lover's  with 
a  rich  Irish  brogue ;  a  song  of  Burns'  with  all  the  subtlety  of 
its  pure,  sweet  accent ;  and  roll  out  a  sea-song  of  Dibdin's  like  a 
sailor  !  Had  I  never  esteemed  him  as  a  master,  I  should  have 
liked  him  as  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world  and  a  delight- 
ful companion.  With  a  number  of  university  friends,  I  once 
dined  with  him  at  his  house  in  Ely  Place.  I  still  remember 
the  four  kinds  of  champagne  that  were  broached  at  dinner;  the 
Chambertin  that  flowed  freely  afterwards  with  the  flow  of  wit 
and  good-humor;  the  music  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  sing- 
ing from  ballad,  opera,  and  oratorio ;  the  hour  at  midnight  in 
the  snug  library  ;  a  fuming  bowl  and  irreproachable  cigars ; 
and  I  remember,  as  my  cab  drove  me  to  the  Tavistock,  that  the 
lamps  of  Holborn  showed  through  the  window  like  mad  and 
merry  dancing  stars.  Alas !  I  am  writing  of  one  whose  hand 
I  shall  never  grasp  again,  for  cordial  welcome  or  regretful 
farewell. 

Of  Webster  I  cannot  speak  at  such  length  •  and  happily,  for 
the  best  of  reasons :  he  is  not,  like  his  two  colleagues,  a  memory 
alone.  But  I  shall  never  forget  how  contagious  was  his  zeal 
for  work ;  how  impetuously  chivalrous  was  his  character, ;  how 
thorough  his  respect  for  industry;  how  unmistakable  his  abhor- 
rence of  shuffling  and  sloth.  And  I  remember  thinking,  at 
times,  when  I  looked  up  from  a  remarkably  white  hand  on  the 
desk  to  a  handsome  and  proud  and  almost  haughty  face  before 
me,  that  my  clerical  master  should  have  been  a  courtly  abbe, 
and  have  "  set  in  hall  with  prince  and  gentle  ladye." 

And  Burney — dear  old  Burney,  as  we  used  to  call  our  head- 
master— how  feeble  would  be  any  words  to  describe  our  fond- 
ness for  that  dear,  white  head !  The  doctor  was  a  noble  type 

1  one  who  lives  well 


DAY-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  581 

of  the  old-fashioned  English  headmaster.  He  had  a  loathing 
for  all  scientific  study  ;  was  utterly  ignorant  of  modern  lan- 
guages :  indeed,  I  believe,  he  looked  upon  Delille  as  the  only 
Frenchman  that  had  ever  been  reclaimed  from  greasy  cookery 
and  sour  claret  to  a  repentant  but  honest  appreciation  of  roast 
beef  and  port  wine.  English  literature  of  the  day  to  him  was 
non-existent ;  his  lectures  smacked  of  the  last  century,  with 
their  long  undulating  periods,  and  pauses  Ciceronian.  He  was 
the  fellow-student  rather  than  the  master  of  his  Hellenists. 
Patiently  would  he  pore  over  their  exercises,  "in  the  lightest 
study  that  sent  a  melancholy  gleam  into  the  long,  dark  school- 
room. All  information,  historical,  antiquarian,  geographical, 
or  philosophic,  as  connected  with  the  classics,  he  regarded  with 
contempt :  any  dunderhead,  he  considered,  might  cram  that  at 
his  leisure ;  but  it  pained  him  to  the  quick  if  a  senior  pupil 
violated  the  Porsonian  pause,  or  trifled  with  a  subjunctive. 
"  A  word  in  your  ear,  doctor,"  said  an  Oxford  examiner  once 
to  him  ;  "  your  captain  yesterday  could  not  tell  me  where  Elis 
was !  "  "I  looked  horrified,"  said  the  doctor,  in  repeating  the 
circumstance ;  "  I  looked  horrified,  of  course ;  but,  on  my  word, 
I  did  not  know  it  myself.  But,"  continued  he,  "  these  Oxford 
fellows  like  this  kind  of  thing ;  but  I'll  wager  you'd  get  few  of 
them  to  write  a  good  Porson." 

Like  all  simple  and  unworldly  natures,  he  was  generous  to 
a  fault.  He  would  have  given  anything,  forgiven  anything  to 
a  good  Greek  scholar.  The  boys  of  the  under  school  feared 
him  as  a  strict  and  resolute  and  severe  disciplinarian.  We,  his 
Hellenists,  knew  that,  while  he  followed,  unquestioningly,  old 
Draconian  laws,  his  heart  was  of  the  kindest  and  softest  and 
tenderest.  How  the  old  man,  that  could  look  so  stern  at  times, 
would  weep,  when  an  old  pupil  went  wrong  at  college ;  with  what 
unreproaching  kindness  he  would  help  him  out  of  difficulties, 
into  which  idleness  or  extravagance  or  misfortune  might  have 
plunged  him.  How  like  a  father  he  would  welcome  him,  when 
all  errors  had  been  retrieved  by  the  winning  of  an  honorable 
place  in  the  list  of  final  honors.  "  You  must  remember,  sir, 


582  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

that  my  place  is  due  to  you  ;  that  but  for  your  help  last  sum- 
mer, I  could  not  have  returned  for  long-vacation  reading." 
"  Nonsense,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  I  remember  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  but  I'll  remember  long  enough  the  place  you  held  in  the 
classical  Tripos." 

And  he,  to  whom  he  thus  spoke,  and  I,  who  am  now  writing, 
and  all  who  had  the  honor  of  belonging  to  the  class  of  his  Hel- 
lenists, will  remember  him  with  love  and  gratitude  and  rever- 
ence to  the  end  ;  ay,  to  the  end. 

And  now,  reader,  why  should  I  give  a  description  of  the 
Hellenist  class  ?  With  three  such  masters,  and  a  set  of  com- 
rades most  of  whom  were  enthusiastic  students,  and  all  of  whom 
were  pleasant  fellows,  how  could  a  triennium  fail  to  be  an  in- 
dustrious and  a  happy  one? — It  was  the  reign  of  Antoninus 
Pius  in  my  school-life,  and  needs  no  chronicling. 


X. 

PLACE  AUX  DAMES' 


The  only  grammar  taught  to  girls  below  the  age  of  twelve 
should  be  that  of  their  own  language ;  and  its  terms  should  be 
made  as  plain  and  intelligible  as  possible.  Perhaps  no  subject 
is  better  taught  than  this  latter  one  in  our  schools.  But  to  girls 
of  superior  intelligence,  even  English  is  not  the  language  upon 
which  to  found  general  and  comprehensive  ideas  of  grammar, 
such  as  may  facilitate  the  after-acquisition  of  any  modern  lan- 
guage. You  would  never  inculcate  ideas  of  filial  duty  on  a 
child,  by  continually  obtruding  upon  him  impertinent  mention 
of  his  own  parents.  You  would  tell  him  amusing  and  instruct 
ive  stories  of  oth&r  children  and  other  parents.  Even  so  with 
grammar. 

In  the  education  of  boys,  it  has  been  agreed,  perhaps  truly, 

1  Room  for  the  Ladies 


DAY-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  583 

that  Latin  is  the  best  instrument  for  inculcating  the  general 
laws  of  language.  Are  there  genders  in  educational  systems, 
like  as  in  Latin  or  French  nouns  ?  Is  there  anything  in  Latin 
grammar  peculiarly  male  ?  How  did  they  talk  at  dinner-time 
in  ancient  Rome  ?  Did  the  men  speak  only  masculine  nouns  ; 
the  ladies,  feminine  ones ;  and  the  servants,  common  ones  ?  We 
have  no  warrant  for  such  a  conclusion.  I  believe  the  Latin  lan- 
guage to  have  been,  and  still  to  be,  incapable  of  such  partition- 
ing. It  is  not  of  the  masculine  gender ;  nor  of  the  feminine  5 
nor  of  the  neuter  or  neither ;  but,  like  other  languages,  of  the 
either  gender.  And,  if  properly  taught,  it  would  be  found  a  far 
easier  language  than  German ;  considerably  easier  than  French  ; 
and  a  little  easier  in  its  old  form  than  in  its  slightly  altered 
form  of  modern  Italian,  which  is  very  easy  indeed. 

Heaven  forbid  that  our  girls  should  be  taught  Latin  with  the 
grammars  now  in  use,  and  those  annotated  books  that  may 
help  an  incompetent  master  over  an  occasional  stile,  but 
can  only  enervate  a  pupil's  brain,  and  transfer  coin  from  the 
pocket  of  an  exasperated  parent  to  the  pocket  of  an  undeserv- 
ing publisher. 

Girls  might,  with  great  advantage,  pass  through  two  or  even 
three  years  of  Latin  teaching,  if  that  language  were  taught  on 
an  easy,  simple,  and  natural  method. 

Although  a  schoolmaster  of  boys,  reader,  I  have  still  a  touch 
of  gallantry.  Smile  at  my  proposal.  I  would  undertake  to 
teach  Latin  to  a  class  of  girls  twelve  years  of  age,  without  the 
use  of  pedantic  and  expensive  books,  or  of  pedantic  and  mean- 
ingless grammar  rules. 

My  pronunciation  would  be  Italian,  as  nearly  Tuscan  as  I 
could  make  it.  I  would  never  forget  that  I  was  training 
children,  not  to  be  schoolmistresses,  but  gentle  ladies  in  a 
drawing-room,  and  gentler  mothers  in  a  nursery.  I  would  so 
teach  a  young  class,  that  if  a  master  of  a  great  English  school 
were  to  interrupt  us  in  our  work,  he  would  say :  "  Ah !  they 
are  engaged  in  a  lesson  of  trumpery  Italian."  And  I  would, 


584  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

perhaps,  mildly  quiz  him  to  my  pupils  in  correct  Latinity, 
which,  from  being  rapidly  and  musically  spoken,  he  would 
not  understand.  And  in  two  years,  perhaps,  and  in  three 
years,  most  certainly,  I  would  have  girls  in  my  class,  who 
would  speak  an  old  language,  not  unlike  the  language  of 
modern  Tuscany,  in  a  way  that  would  shame  their  brothers 
and  cousins,  who  had  been  five  years  at  any  grammar  school 
in  the  kingdom,  and  trained  on  the  old  system  of  Elementary 
Unintelligibility.  And  I  would  teach  them  Latin  in  such  a 
way  that  very  soon  they  would  read  a  parable  in  either  Italian 
or  Spanish  without  stumbling  over  either  word  of  construction. 
And  I  would  engage  to  say  that  my  pupils  would  like  their 
work,  and  would  not  dislike  their  master. 

And  consider  the  collateral  effects  of  so  bracing  and  health- 
ful an  education  of  our  girls.  Boy-classics  would  be  forced,  in 
emulation,  to  dispense  with  much  of  their  dull  pedantry  and 
youths  would  be  ashamed  to  continue  ignorant  of  modern 
tongues  that  their  sisters  spoke  with  elegance  and  ease.  We 
have  now  a  smattering  of  youth  that  cram  reluctantly  some 
knowledge  of  French,  German,  Italian,  or  Spanish,  to  win 
marks  in  our  Chinese  examinations.  What  a  vulgar  and 
profane  usage  of  the  dialects  of  Corneille,  Goethe,  Dante,  and 
Cervantes ! 

But,  reader,  you  are  alarmed.  You  are  afraid  that  such  a 
system  would  make  blue-stockings  of  our  girls.  Prejudice, 
reader — unmanly,  unchivalrous  prejudice.  The  ladies  of  the 
Russian  noblesse  can  speak  almost  every  language  of  Europe; 
but  they  are  exquisitely  feminine.  My  brother  sat  for  a  week 
opposite  a  fair  creature  at  a  table  d'hote l  in  Venice  ;  and  perhaps 
he  never  eat  less,  or  enjoyed  dinner  more,  for  a  week  together. 
He  heard  her  speak  all  the  languages  he  knew ;  and  some  that 
he  did  not  know.  But  for  her  linguistic  powers  he  would  have 
taken  her  for  an  English  girl,  from  her  English  accent  and  her 
blonde  beauty.  Of  course,  she  was  a  Russian.  She  had  no 
appearance  of  the  blue.  If  she  was  one — then  I  could  wish 
1  a  common  table  for  guests  at  a  hotel 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  585 

that  all  were  even  as  that  sweet,  young,  blue-eyed  polyglot. 
'Twas  a  lucky  fellow,  I  should  think,  that  caught  that  little 
Tartar. 

Do,  reader,  disabuse  your  reasonable  mind  of  unreasonable 
crotchets.  Women  have  just  as  keen  intelligence  as  men ;  less 
powers,  maybe,  of  abstract  reasoning ;  but  far  finer  perceptive 
and  linguistic  faculties.  They  need  not  be  trained  to  exhaus- 
tive scholarship  ;  but  refinement  of  mental  culture  suits  them, 
perhaps,  even  more  than  it  does  our  own  sex. 

I  imagine  that  the  Lady  Jane,  who  read  her  Phsedo  when 
the  horn  was  calling,  had  as  pretty  a  mouse-face  as  you  ever 
saw  in  a  dream ;  and  I  am  sure  that  gentle  girl  was  a  better 
scholar  than  any  lad  of  seventeen  is  now  in  any  school  of  Eng- 
land or  Scotland. 

And  once  upon  a  time,  reader — a  long,  long  while  ago — I 
knew  a  schoolmaster,  and  that  schoolmaster  had  a  wife.  And 
she  was  young,  and  fair,  and  learned  ;  like  that  princess-pupil 
ofoldAscham;  fair  and  learned  as  Sydney's  sister,  Pembroke's 
mother.  And  her  voice  was  ever  soft,  gentle,  and  low,  reader — 
an  excellent  thing  in  woman.  And  her  fingers  were  quick  at 
needlework,  and  nimble  in  all  a  housewife's  cunning.  And  she 
could  draw  sweet  music  from  the  ivory  board ;  and  sweeter, 
stranger  music  from  the  dull  life  of  her  schoolmaster-husband. 
And  she  was  slow  at  heart  to  understand  mischief,  but  her  feet 
ran  swift  to  do  good.  And  she  was  simple  with  the  simplicity 
of  girlhood,  and  wise  with  the  wisdom  that  cometh  only  of  the 
Lord, — cometh  only  to  the  children  of  the  Kingdom.  And  her 
sweet  young  life  was  as  a  Morning  Hymn,  sung  by  child- voices 
to  rich  organ-music.  Time  shall  throw  nis  dart  at  Death,  ere 
Death  has  slain  such  another. 

For  she  died,  reader,  a  long,  long  while  ago.  And  I  stood 
once  by  her  grave ;  her  green  grave,  not  far  from  dear  Dunedin. 
Died,  reader,  for  all  she  was  so  fair,  and  young,  and  learned, 
and  simple,  and  good.  And  I  am  told  it  made  a  great  differ- 
ence to  that  schoolmaster. 


586  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

XXL 

SUUM  CUIQUE1 

Nascitur,  non  fit,2  may  be  said  as  truly  of  the  schoolmaster  as 
of  the  poet.  The  popular  but  mistaken  idea  is,  that  any  young 
man,  who  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  is  well  enough  educated  for 
a  learned  profession,  but  lacks  the  means  or  spirit  to  push  his 
way  in  the  world  of  law  or  medicine,  may  subside  into  a  teacher 
of  the  classics.  Many  young  Englishmen  think  so  themselves, 
and  take  clerical  orders  at  the  time  of  entering  the  despised 
profession,  that  they  may  escape  from  it,  if  on  any  white  day  a 
vicarage  should  fall  from  the  clouds.  These  are  they  that  are 
not  born  schoolmasters,  but  are  made  schoolmasters  of  men. 

In  the  matter  of  education,  Scotland  is,  in  many  points,  in 
advance  of  her  southern  neighbor.  The  middle-class  prepara- 
tory schools  of  Dunedin  are  unapproachably  superior  to  any- 
thing of  the  kind — if  there  be  anything  of  the  kind — in  England. 
The  teaching  of  the  elementary  classes  in  our  high  school  and 
Schola  Nova  is  even  at  present  far  superior  to  that  of  similar 
classes  in  any  public  schools  in  England  with  which  I  have 
been  directly  or  indirectly  acquainted;  and  that  includes 
almost  all  the  public  schools  of  importance  in  the  country. 
With  a  few,  but  I  must  own,  very  important  modifications,  our 
training  of  junior  classes  might  be  made  almost  perfect  of  its 
kind. 

In  our  high  school  is  still  retained  much  of  the  beautiful 
vowel-music  of  Italian-Latin.  The  Greek  professor  of  our 
Dunedin  University — faithful  among  the  faithless,  in  this  re- 
spect— can  read  a  simile  of  Homer,  without  marring  rhythm 
or  ignoring  accent. 

In  Scotland,  also,  the  profession  of  teaching,  though  not  suffi- 
ciently honored  from  a  social  point  of  view,  is  rightly  considered 
as  specific,  and  calling  for  specific  qualifications.  When  Adam  and 
1  His  own  2  He  is  born,  he  is  not  made 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  587 

Carson  of  our  high  school,  Melvin  of  Aberdeen,  and  Carmichael 
of  our  own  Schola  Nova,  first  apprenticed  themselves  to  their 
craft,  they  left  no  plank  behind  them  for  recrossing  at  a  favor- 
able opportunity  to  ease  or  affluence  in  an  extraneous  calling. 
They  put  their  hands  to  the  plough,  these  simple  men  ;  and 
there  was  no  looking  back.  They  devoted  themselves  to  the 
business  of  classical  instruction  as  single-heartedly  as  did  the 
Apostles  to  the  dissemination  of  Christian  doctrine.  They  knew 
well  enough  that  spiritual  darkness  abounded,  but  they  left  its 
enlightenment  to  another  calling — the  only  one  that  in  the 
dignity  of  usefulness  takes  precedence  of  their  own. 

And  one  of  them  lived  too  short  a  life ;  but  they  all  lived 
lives  laborious  and  useful  and  honorable.  From  dawn  to  sun- 
set of  their  day  of  toil  they  sowed  the  seed,  or  drave  the  plow, 
or  brake  with  harrows  the  obstructive  glebe.  And  when  at 
length  it  was  growing  dark,  these  husbandmen  dismissed  their 
little  reapers  and  gleaners  ;  and  gat  them  home,  wearied ;  and 
turned  to ;  and  fell  on  sleep.  No  foretaste  of  earthly  glory 
sweetened  the  bitterness  of  the  last  cup.  From  modest  hornet 
they  were  borne,  unnoticed,  to  modest  graves.  But  the  statues 
of  these  Cincinnatus-teachers  stand,  not  unwreathed  with  laurel, 
in  the  Valhalla  of  great  and  good  and  single-hearted  school- 
masters, with  all  the  other  good  men  and  true.  And  the 
Valhalla  is  not  in  Dunedin,  reader ;  but  in  a  great  and  distant 
city;  a  city  not  built  with  hands;  a  city  more  beautiful  by  far 
than  beautiful  Dunedin. 

About  a  furlong  from  my  own  lodgings,  in  a  room  as  near  to 
heaven,1  burns  the  midnight  lamp  of  one  who  could  read  a 
play  of  Sophocles  ere  I  could  inarticulately  scream.  He  has 
read  more  of  ancient  literature  than  many  literary  men  have 
read  of  English.  He  has  purified  his  Greek  seven  times  in  the 
fire.  He  has  resuscitated  many  Aorists,  that  for  centuries  had 
lain  dormant  under  mossy  stones.  He  has  passed,  alone  and 
fearless,  through  waste  places,  where  no  footfall  had  echoed 
for  a  hundred  years.  In  England,  nothing  but  a  special  inter- 
1  an  allusion  to  the  very  tall  buildings  of  Edinburgh 


588  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

position  of  Providence  could  have  saved  this  scholar  from  the 
Bench  of  Bishops ;  in  Scotland,  nothing  short  of  personal  vio- 
lence could  have  pushed  him  into  a  Professorial  Chair.  The 
fact  is,  this  man,  with  all  his  learning,  is  bowed  down  with  the 
weight  of  a  most  unnational  modesty.  Indeed,  of  this  quality, 
as  of  erudition,  there  is  as  much  contained  in  his  well  as  would 
serve  to  irrigate  his  native  country.  Heaven  knows  what  he 
might  have  been  had  he  consented  in  earlier  life  to  play  in 
public  the  cymbals  of  claptrap  and  the  tom-tom  of  self-conceit. 
But  his  voice  was  never  heard  in  the  Palaverium  of  Dunedin. 
My  friend,  in  fact,  was  ostracized  by  his  fellow-citizens  of  the 
modern  Athens. 

You  may  hear  of  him  at  Jena,  Gottingen,  or  Heidelberg; 
but,  in  perusing  the  list  of  doctors  of  our  own  universities, 
after  running  your  finger  down  some  columns  of  mediocre 
Rabbis,  you  will  experience  a  sensation  of  relief  in  missing  the 
name  of  Veitch 

In  day-schools,  like  the  two  great  institutions  of  Dunedin, 
where  the  boys  only  give  a  morning  and  noon  attendance  for 
five  days  in  the  week,  there  is  no  call  for  the  clerical  element 
whatsoever.  Their  pupils  combine  the  advantages  of  a  public 
school  with  the  inestimable  and  civilizing  influences  of  home 
life.  As  their  parents  and  guardians  may  reasonably  be  sup- 
posed to  be  in  all  cases  Christian,  there  would  seem  to  be 
no  need  for  religious  instruction  in  their  school-hours ;  and  it 
might  be  thought-  sufficient,  if  such  institutions  opened  the 
work  of  each  day  with  the  reverent  reading  of  some  chapter 
of  the  New  Testament,  a"nd  a  short  and  appropriate  prayer; 
and  if  a  weekly  lesson  were  given  from  the  historical  portions 
of  the  older  Scriptures.  Not  to  speak  of  the  heterogeneous 
admixture  of  doctrinal  lessons  with  those  in  Latin  syntax  and 
Rule  of  Three,  the  boys  are  supposed  to  hear  family  prayers 
each  morning  and  evening ;  to  attend  Divine  Service  regularly ; 
and  to  hear  the  Bible  read  and  expounded  by  a  devout  father 
or  mother.  The  hearing  of  one  parable  from  the  gentle  voice 
of  the  latter  is  worth  all  the  religious  instruction  that  a  master 


DAY-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  589 

can  impart  in  class,  where  in  the  hearts  of  boys  the  spirit  of 
gentleness  is  too  apt  to  succumb  to  the  sterner  spirit  of  class 
ambition. 

However,  the  question  is  different  in  regard  to  large  schools 
where  children  are,  with  questionable  propriety,  removed  en- 
tirely from  home.  Here  I  can  perfectly  understand  how  well 
the  moral  and  religious  training  of  pupils  might  be  intrusted 
to  discreet  clerical  hands ;  and  would  allow  to  the  chaplain  of 
such  an  institution  preeminence  in  rank  and  emolument,  as  due 
to  the  sacredness  of  his  calling.  There  would  be  some  studies, 
also,  in  which  he  could  give  valuable  help ;  as  in  that  of  Bib- 
lical, and  even  secular  history  ;  and  over  all  he  might  exert 
a  wholesome  influence.  But  I  am  wholly  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  the  fact  that  in  England,  the  teaching  of  the  classical  lan- 
guages should  be  considered  as  almost  necessarily  devolving 
upon  the  clergy.  Why  should  it  require  Holy  Orders  to  fit  a 
man  to  teach  the  heathen  tongues  of  Athens  and  Rome,  any 
more  than  to  teach  the  Christian  tongues  of  France,  Germany 
or  Italy  ? — or,  indeed,  any  more  than  to  teach  drawing  or  music 
or  dancing?  Greek  and  Latin  are  important  elements  in  the 
education  of  a  gentleman,  but  they  enter  very  indirectly  into 
the  training  of  a  Christian.  They  may  lead  a  man  part  of  the 
way  to  the  woolsack ;  but  they  cannot  carry  him  one  step  on 
the  road  that  leads  to  the  Everlasting  Gates.  No :  many  chil- 
dren have  gone  in  thereat,  that  never  stumbled  through  a  de- 
clension; or  that  stumbled  through  one,  and  nothing  more: 
many  men,  that  in  boyhood  fell  through  the  Asses'  Bridge, 
have,  in  spite  of  corpulence,  passed  safely  over  the  suspended 
camel's  hair,  that  breaks  only  beneath  iniquity :  many  dear 
illiterate  old  saints  have  outstripped  wits  and  critics  and 
scholars  and  theologians  on  their  journey  to  an  unaspirated 
Heaven. 

Not  many  years  ago  the  patrons  of  a  large  proprietary  school 
in  the  West  of  England  offered  their  headmastership  to  a  very 
distinguished  scholar,  a  friend  of  my  own,  on  condition  that 


590  D'ARCY   WENT  WORTH  THOMPSON 

he  would  take  Holy  Orders.  It  was  more  than  insinuated  that 
these  Orders  would  merely  affect  the  fashion  of  his  neck-tie, 
and  the  prejudices  of  an  enlightened  public.  My  friend  was  a 
man  of  middle  age,  with  habits  and  character  thoroughly 
formed,  and  with  as  much  idea  of  turning  clergyman  as  of 
buying  the  practice  of  a  dentist.  Consequently  the  offer, 
though  pecuniarily  a  very  tempting  one,  was  not  accepted. 
My  friend  is  prosecuting  his  journey  heavenwards  with  a  well- 
stored  brain ;  a  rather  ill-stored  scrip ;  a  white  conscience ;  and 
a  black  tie.  For  my  own  part  I  regard  such  martyrdom  as 
utterly  out  of  place  in  a  practical  age.  When  the  headmaster- 
ship  is  next  vacant,  I  trust  the  patrons  will  make  a  similar 
offer  to  me.  They  have  merely  to  name  their  salary — and  their 
bishop. 

XXII. 

THE  SOCIAL  POSITION  OF  SCHOOLMASTERS 

Many  of  my  school  vacations  I  passed  in  Bruges  and  Brus- 
sels, and  made  the  acquaintance  from  time  to  time  of  boys  of 
my  own  age  attending  the  Athenees,  or  public  schools  of  these 
towns.  Indeed,  my  own  brother  received  at  such  schools  the 
greater  part  of  his  education.  The  masters  were  laymen ;  in  a 
country  next  to  Spain  perhaps  the  most  bigotedly  Catholic  in 
Europe.  The  means  of  coercion  at  their  disposal  seemed  to 
my  young  English  ideas  barbarously  simple.  No  birch ;  no 
cane;  not  even  the  ridiculously  mild  strap.  How  on  earth 
could  pupils  learn  Latin  versification,  or  any  other  useful  ac- 
complishment, without  such  obviously  requisite  stimulants? 
However,  their  classes  of  rhetoric,  or  senior  classes,  did  turn 
out  well-educated  and  most  gentlemanly-mannered  men.  But 
the  strangest  thing  to  me  was  that  the  masters  were  never 
spoken  of  as  occupying  any  peculiar  or  comical  position  in 
society.  It  never  seemed  to  strike  a  boy  to  speak  in  terms  of 
ridicule  of  his  schoolmaster  any  more  than  of  his  clergyman 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  591 

or  medical  attendant.  In  fact,  society  at  large  seemed  uncon- 
sciously to  regard  the  master  of  an  Athenee  as  an  ordinary 
gentleman,  neither  more  nor  less. 

One  of  the  most  polished  and  accomplished  men  I  have  ever 
had  the  honor  of  knowing  was  my  brother's  music-master, 
whose  lessons  were  given  at  a  rate  that  would  appear  to  us 
ludicrously  small.  He  associated  on  terms  of  perfect  intimacy 
with  families  of  very  ancient  lineage  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Bruges.  He  used  to  describe  in  the  most  humorous  fashion 
the  treatment  he  occasionally  met  with  in  English  salons,  whose 
occupants,  of  undoubtedly  high  position  at  home,  were  tempo- 
rarily residing  abroad  for  reasons  of  financial  retrenchment. 

I  have  had  many  relatives  educated  entirely  in  Florence, 
and  have  heard  that  the  masters,  who  visited  the  leading  schools 
there,  held  a  social  position  in  that  not  unaristocratic  city  quite 
equal  to  that  of  an  ordinary  barrister  amongst  ourselves.  And 
these  masters  had  no  ecclesiastical  title  to  raise  them  in  the 
social  scale. 

In  England,  at  a  very  early  period,  the  birch  and  cane  were 
engrafted  upon  our  educational  system.  They  naturally  made 
the  position  of  a  schoolmaster  odious  in  the  sight  of  children, 
and  somewhat  ludicrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  espe- 
cially so  in  the  eyes  of  women.  Now  the  English  character  is 
essentially  practical,  but  by  no  means  bigoted  to  logic.  Their 
political  Constitution  might  be  theoretically  assailed  on  many 
points ;  but  it  works  satisfactorily  as  a  whole.  In  the  matter 
of  education,  England  shows  an  equal  disregard  of  logic  and 
an  equal  determination  of  working  good  ends  by  any  practical 
means.  The  position  of  a  schoolmaster  needed  backing  up,  it 
seemed,  in  some  way.  Then  make  the  schoolmaster  a  clergy- 
man. Never  mind  the  absurdity  of  calling  upon  a  man  to 
swear  that  he  will  spend  and  be  spent  in  preaching  the  Glad 
Tidings,  when  he  knows,  and  everybody  knows,  that  he  will 
pass  his  life  in  teaching  the  rudiments  of  Greek  and  Latin. 
With  a  practical  people  such  obligations  are  generally  under- 
stood in  a  practical  way ;  and  the  practical  way  of  understand- 


592  &ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

ing  them  seems,  in  this  one  instance,  to  lie  in  ignoring  them 
partially  or  altogether. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  without  the  aid  of  clerical 
prestige,  no  body  of  men  could  have  continued  to  command 
public  respect  in  spite  of  the  odium  and  ridicule  attached  to 
such  flagrantly  cruel  implements  as  the  cane  and  birch.  The 
former  of  these,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,  is  painful  in  the  ex- 
treme; and  the  infliction  of  the  latter  is  always  brutal,  and 
very  often  abominably  indecent. 

Now,  in  Scotland,  whatever  our  faults  may  be — and  Scottish 
writers  on  the  London  press  purge  us  from  time  to  time  of  our 
conceit — we  are  acknowledged  to  be  a  logical  race.  Conse- 
quently we  call  a  schoolmaster  a  schoolmaster.  We  no  more 
think  of  allowing  him  to  take  fictitious  orders,  than  we  should 
think  of  giving  a  haberdasher  the  fictitious  title  of  M.D.,  and 
yet  a  schoolmaster  in  Scotland  has  certainly  need  of  any  aid 
that  could  be  rendered  for  the  improvement  of  his  social  status. 
The  latter  is  far  below  that  of  any  other  professional  body. 
Yet,  low  as  is  comparatively  the  social  position  of  the  Scottish 
schoolmaster,  he  can  point  to  his  ridiculous  but  almost  innocu- 
ous leather  strap,  and  boast  that  he  has  contrived  therewith  to 
maintain  discipline  and  stimulate  to  exertion,  while  a  wealth- 
ier body,  with  rich  endowments  and  ecclesiastical  prestige,  have 
made  unsparing  use  of  two  instruments,  whose  barbarity  as  far 
exceeds  that  of  his  own  strap,  as  the  income  of  an  Eton  pro- 
vost exceeds  that  of  a  rector  of  our  high  school. 

But  to  revert  to  the  consideration  of  the  social  rank  of  a 
master  in  a  Scottish  grammar-school.  The  rectors  of  the  two 
chief  Edinburgh  schools  are  exceptions  to  the  ordinary  rule. 
They  enjoy  a  social  rank  befitting  the  dignity  of  their  official 
duties.  But  how  is  it  that  the  masters  of  classics,  mathematics, 
and  modern  languages,  in  these  and  similar  institutions,  take 
by  general  consent  a  lower  place  at  feasts  than  a  medical  man 
of  little  practice,  and  an  ad*vocate  of  few  briefs  ? 

In  the  social  estimate  of  a  whole  order  of  men,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  the  world  at  large  cannot  be  altogether  wrong.  There 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  593 

is  generally  fault  on  both  sides.  If,  then,  we  schoolmasters  are 
at  fault,  it  would  be  of  use  if  we  could  only  hit  upon  our  weak 
point.  We  might  then  give  it  a  fair  and  serious  consideration  ; 
and  use  means,  if  they  could  be  suggested,  for  remedying  the 
evil. 

I  have  heard  it  said  by  a  gentleman  of  very  high  position, 
and  of  reputed  scholarship,  that  the  subordinate  master  in  a 
great  Scottish  school  is  only  expected  by  a  Scottish  public  to 
be  a  man  of  ordinary  attainments,  who  can  drill  his  pupils  well 
in  the  rudiments,  and  just  keep  pace  with  them  in  their  higher 
reading.  While  such  melancholy  opinions  are  generally  enter- 
tained of  our  craft,  it  is  especially  incumbent  upon  us  to  en- 
deavor by  our  teaching  and  our  lives  to  belie  them.  It  is 
because  we  too  often  give  in,  for  want  of  courage  or  proper 
pride,  to  such  a  condemnation  of  our  order  that  we  continue  to 
be  members  of  a  Pariah  profession.  We  are  too  often  contented 
with  the  limited  intellectual  stores  that  were  laid  in  at  college. 
We  too  often  go  uninquiringly  through  a  dull  routine ;  caring 
little  whether  or  no  we  carry  the  inclinations  and  sympathies 
of  our  boys  along  with  us,  so  long  as  we  get  through  the  pre- 
scribed work,  and  preserve  a  mechanical  discipline.  We  are 
not  impressed  with  the  fact  that  a  schoolmaster  cannot  be  too 
learned,  too  accomplished.  Under  any  circumstances,  some- 
thing of  the  tedious  must  creep  into  the  routine  of  school-work, 
and  it  will  need  a  wide  field  of  continual  reading  to  enable  one 
to  illustrate  and  vivify  daily  lessons,  that  vary  from  the  declen- 
sion of  penna  to  the  study  of  the  Agamemnon. 

The  pupils  at  our  chief  public  schools  study  German  and 
French.  Should  a  master  of  the  two  great  ancient  languages 
be  ignorant  of  linguistic  studies,  in  which  his  pupils  may  be 
proficient?  No;  he  should  outstrip  them  immeasurably  in 
every  department  of  study  that  bears  upon  his  own.  He  should 
be  so  impressed  with  the  dignity  of  his  calling, — and  what  call- 
ing, save  the  cure  of  souls  is  more  dignified  ? — so  full  of  chast- 
ened respect  for  himself,  as  to  command  the  respect  of  his 
pupils,  though  he  may  fail  for  a  while  to  command  that  of  the 
s.  M.— 38 


594  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

more  unthinking  of  the  public.  If  we  could  only  work  our- 
selves up  to  some  such  standard  we  might  then  gradually 
dispense  with  that  little  leathern  instrument,  that  still  keeps 
a  burr  of  ridicule  attached  to  our  black  gowns. 

But,  stop :  am  I  again  traveling  to  Utopia?  Let  me  turn 
my  hobby's  head,  and  gallop  back  to  dear  Dunedin.  When  a 
man's  liver  is  out  of  order  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  his  doc- 
tor's telling  him  to  keep  early  hours ;  to  use  a  cold  tub  ;  to  live 
temperately,  and  take  frequent  outdoor  exercise?  Why,  his 
grandmother  might  have  suggested  that.  What  the  man  wants 
is  a  blue  pill  or  two.  They  can  be  taken  in  a  minute  ;  and  he 
need  not  materially  change  his  dietetics.  Could  not  some  such 
violent  but  easy  remedy  be  suggested  for  the  cure  of  our  social 
abasement  ?  Certainly.  Why  should  barring-out  be  confined 
to  boys — or  strikes  to  artisans  ?  A  fig  for  political  economy ! 
Let  us  form  ourselves  into  a  league  and  proclaim  a  general 
STRIKE  OP  SCHOOLMASTERS!  There  will  be  some  sneaking 
recusants  among  us ;  but  we  will  brain  them  with  their  own 
dictionaries. 

Some  summer  morning  Scotland  will  awake  and  find  every 
grammatical  fountain  frozen.  What  fun  it  will  be  for  the 
boys !  For  a  week  the  parents  may  outface  the  inconvenience ; 
but  in  a  month  the  animal,  always  latent  in  boyhood,  will  be 
growing  rampant  and  outrageous.  Gradually  will  it  develop, 
unsoothed  by  the  influences  of  grammar,  unchecked  by  the 
sterner  influences  of  our  magic  leather.  No  father  will  be  safe 
in  his  own  house.  The  smaller  boys  will  be  smoking  brown 
paper  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  older  boys  wallowing  in 
Bass  and  cavendish  in  the  lower  kitchen. 

Meanwhile,  calmly  reposing  in  the  stillness  of  his  back  parlor, 
M'Gillicuddy  will  be  putting  the  finishing  stroke  to  that  folio 
edition  of  "  Cornelius  Nepos,"  on  which  his  fame  in  after  ages 
is  to  rest ;  and  I,  in  my  aerial  lodgings,  shall  be  setting  to  Greek 
iambics  the  moral  aphorisms  of  the  great  Tupper,  whose  terse- 
ness and  originality  are  the  wonder  of  a  grateful  people. 

Our  hospitable  provost,  like  his  predecessor  in  olden  days 


DAY-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  595 

when  the  English  were  marching  north,  will  hold  a  meeting 
of  troubled  citizens.  They  will  meet  in  arms ;  each  father  will 
be  provided  with  his  life-preserver  of  cut  leather.  One  speaker 
will  tell  how  nouns  are  at  a  fabulous  premium ;  that  an  adjec- 
tive may  not  be  had  for  love  or  money.  Another  will  tell  the 
horrible  tale,  how  whole  families  have  for  weeks  subsisted  on 
the  smallest  prepositions.  They  will  attempt  a  compromise. 
We  shall  decline  treating  on  such  terms.  They  will  surrender 
unconditionally ;  and  our  terms — monstrous  as  they  may  seem 
— shall  be  as  follows : 

A  schoolmaster,  who  shall  have  graduated  at  an  university, 
shall  hereafter  be  addressed,  personally  or  epistolarily,  with  the 
courtesy  usually  shown  to  a  second-rate  solicitor  or  a  briefless 
advocate. 

Whosoever  shall  wittingly  and  willfully  offend  against  the 
above  decree,  let  him  for  the  first  offense  be  dismissed  after  due 
admonition ;  but,  on  a  second  offense  being  proven,  let  him  be 
sentenced  to  parse  verbatim  the  folio  edition  of  M'Gillicuddy's 
"  Nepos,"  declining  all  nouns,  conjugating  all  verbs,  and  repeat- 
ing all  syntax  rules,  usque  ad  Rei  ipsius  et  totius  Qwrise,  nauseam.1 

XXIII 

TINT,  TINT,  TINT* 

It  is  now  twelve  years  ago  that  I  was  for  the  first  time 
brought  face  to  face  with  a  class,  some  fifty  in  number,  of  little 
Latin  novices.  They  all  regarded  me  with  sensations  of  won- 
derment and  awe ;  they  had  but  a  faint  idea,  luckily,  of  the 
terror  with  which  I  regarded  them  I  had,  certainly,  the 
recollections  of  my  own  long  elementary  training  to  guide  me 
in  my  proceedings ;  and  I  had  the  traditions  of  the  school,  to 
which  I  had  been  recently  appointed  as  master,  to  direct  my 
uncertain  steps.  But  the  recollections  of  my  own  training 

1  even  to  the  disgust  of  the  prisoner  under  sentence  and  of  the  entire  bench 
of  judges. 

2  Lost,  Lost,  Lost.     (Scotch.) 


596  D' Alter    WENT  WORTH   THOMPSON 

were  all  tinged  with  melancholy ;  and  with  the  traditions  of  my 
new  sphere  of  duty  I  was  but  imperfectly  acquainted. 

In  the  middle  of  my  class-room  stood  a  machine,  somewhat 
resembling  a  patent  engine  for  the  simultaneous  polishing  of 
many  knives ;  and  I  was  desired  to  take  a  firm  grasp  of  its 
wooden  handle,  and  to  turn  it  with  vigor  and  rapidity.  And 
an  implement  of  simple  leather  was  put  into  my  hands,  by  the 
dexterous  application  of  which  I  was  to  quicken  the  apprehen- 
sions of  such  children  as  might  be  uninfluenced  by  the  monoto- 
nous music  of  my  gerund-stone. 

And  for  many  a  day,  obedient  to  tradition  and  to  my  orders, 
I  turned  rapidly  the  wooden  handle,  and  flourished  vigorously 
the  simple  implement  to  the  very  best  of  my  ability.  But, 
strange  to  say,  although  I  was  then  youthful  and  strong,  and 
eaten  up  with  a  superfluous  zeal  for  my  calling,  I  could  never 
turn  the  machine  without  its  creaking  painfully  ;  and  whenever 
I  applied  my  leathern  implement  to  a  child's  palm,  I  was 
immediately  conscious  of  a  thrill,  as  of  electricity,  that  ran 
from  my  finger-tips  to  the  very  center  of  my  nervous  system ; 
and  sometimes,  after  the  performance  of  such  an  ordinary  act 
of  duty,  I  would  find  myself  standing  before  my  pupils  with  a 
heightened  color  upon  my  face,  and  a  tingling  in  my  ears ;  and 
to  a  looker-on  I  should  have  appeared  as  one  ashamed  of 
having  done  some  questionable  deed. 

Finding  all  my  efforts  unavailing  to  work  smoothly  and 
noiselessly  my  mechanical  engine  of  instruction,  I  at  length 
relinquished  it  altogether ;  and  it  has  been  now  standing  for 
years  in  a  side-room  adjoining  my  place  of  business,  and  is 
covered  over  with  cobwebs,  and  rusted  at  the  juncture  of  the 
stone  and  handle. 

To  supply  the  place  of  its  simple  mechanism,  I  brought  to 
bear  upon  my  pupils  all  the  moral  and  intellectual  means  at 
my  disposal.  I  spared  myself  neither  in  the  matter  of  time  nor 
trouble  in  my  endeavors  to  educe  the  dormant  faculties  of  niy 
charges ;  and  enjoying  as  I  did  for  many  years  a  bodily  health 
impervious  to  fatigue,  and  having  a  keen  sympathy  with  boy- 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  597 

hood,  I   succeeded   more  and  more  until  I  almost  ceased  at 
length  to  regret  the  disappearance  of  my  gerund-stone. 

But  the  more  I  gave  satisfaction  to  myself,  the  less  I  gave 
satisfaction  to  the  majority  of  my  so-called  patrons — the  guard- 
ians of  my  young  pupils.  From  time  to  time,  when  I  was 
indulging  in  a  dream  of  appreciated  toil,  I  heard  of  complaints 
being  circulated  by  such  as  were  favorers  of  mechanism  in 
instruction.  Pupils  in  whose  progress  I  had  begun  to  take  a 
keen  interest  were  from  time  to  time  removed  without  a  word 
of  explanation  or  the  civility  of  a  farewell.  "  They  were  not 
grounded"  said  these  waggish  but  unmannerly  guardians ; 
meaning  all  the  while,  "  They  were  not  ground." 

I  had  almost  begun  to  despair  of  my  system,  and  to  think 
that  I  had  mistaken  my  calling,  and  was  casting  about  my 
eyes  for  some  honest  trade  to  which  I  might  apprentice  myself, 
when  one  afternoon  my  class  was  honored  with  a  lengthened 
visit  from  a  gentleman  of  acknowledged  rank  and  worth  and 
judgment.  After  the  lesson  was  over  I  complained  to  this  dis-' 
tinguished  visitor  that  my  system  of  conveying  instruction, 
as  being  natural  and  philosophic,  was  popularly  considered 
a  more  difficult  one  for  a  pupil  than  the  ancient  turning  of  a 
piece  of  mechanism.  My  visitor,  who  had  a  son  under  my 
charge,  stated  his  firm  conviction  that  my  system  was  not  only 
likely  to  produce  better  results,  but  was  also  in  its  operation  far 
more  easy  and  interesting  for  a  young  pupil  to  follow.  For 
that  moment  I  felt  reassured,  and  determined  never  again  to 
regret  the  absence  of  my  gerund-stone. 

,  And  now  to  treat  of  the  loss  of  my  other  auxiliary  imple- 
ment. The  application  of  this  latter,  I  can  honestly  say,  was 
never  made  excepting  with  the  view  of  stimulating  ever-dor- 
mant energies,  and  of  repressing  tendencies  to  chronic  negligence 
or  misconduct.  I  considered  myself  as  an  abstraction  ;  as  the 
embodied  representative  of  the  class ;  and  used  the  implement 
only  to  protect  the  interests  of  the  latter,  which  suffered,  to  my 
mind,  whenever  one  of  its  members,  by  carelessness  or  lack  of 
study,  turned  upon  himself  that  stream  of  time  and  energy 


598  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

that  should  have  run  uninterruptedly  to  the  irrigation  of  the 
body  corporate.  In  fact  I  made  myself  the  dividend  in  a  long 
division  sum,  whose  divisor  was  duty ;  the  quotient,  I  found, 
was  teacher  +  superintendent,  and  the  remainder,  personal  iden- 
tity, which  was  very  small  in  comparison  with  the  divisor,  and 
might  practically  be  ignored.  So,  when  a  little  fellow  walked 
after  me  for  a  few  days  at  the  striking  of  the  bell,  with  his 
hands  beneath  imaginary  coat-tails  in  imitation  of  my  gait,  I 
considered  him  as  only  joking  with  me  in  my  capacity  of 
remainder ;  and  I  merely  asked  him  to  desist,  as  otherwise  I 
should  make  fun  of  him  in  revenge ;  and  he  desisted.  And 
when  a  boy  wrote  my  name  upon  the  desk,  I  was  contented 
with  showing  iiim  how  he  had  misspelled  it ;  and  he  rubbed 
it  out  at  my  request.  And  when  a  boy,  years  ago,  put  his 
tongue  into  his  cheek  after  an  admonition,  I  showed  his  com- 
rades what  little  control  he  had  over  that  organ ;  knowing  as  I 
did  that  he  intended  to  protrude  it  on  the  side  that  would  have 
been  invisible  to  me.  And  I  may  state  that  such  trifling  inci- 
dents were  of  so  rare  occurrence  that  I  could  enumerate  them 
all  upon  the  fingers  of  one  hand. 

But  still,  although  I  was  conscious  that  I  used  the  imple- 
ment with  good  intent,  and  aware  that  it  was  similarly  used  by 
men  who  were  my  superiors  in  age,  and  certainly  not  my 
inferiors  in  kindliness  and  sympathy  with  boyhood,  I  was 
haunted  with  an  idea  that  the  use  of  it  was  founded  on  an  error 
in  our  system  of  instruction,  and  I  was  long  pondering  where 
the  error  could  lie ;  and  I  found  the  subject  far  more  difficult 
than  I  had  at  first  supposed,  and  I  confess  it  still  to  be  a  projo-  • 
lem  difficult  of  solution. 

I  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  one  day,  when,  according  to  an 

unalterable  rule,  there  came  under  the  influence  of  the  electric 
7  • 

implement  a  little,  quiet,  well-behaved,  and  intelligent  for- 
eigner. The  application  had  scarce  been  made  when  a  young 
comrade — bless  the  lad ! — gave  vent  to  an  unmistakable 
hiss !  Order,  of  course,  was  immediately  and  energetically  re- 
established. But  in  my  walk  that  afternoon  by  the  sea,  and  in 


DAT-DREAMS  OF  A  SCHOOLMASTER        599 

many  a  lonely  walk  afterwards,  I  thought  about  that  little 
foreigner  and  his  courageous  comrade.  And  I  thought  how 
that  little  foreigner,  returning  to  his  own  land,  the  ancient 
home  of  courtesy  and  gentle  manners,  would  tell  his  friends  of 
our  rude,  northern  ways.  And  I  tremble  at  the  idea  of  my 
usage  of  the  Electric  Leather  being  narrated  in  the  hearing  of 
one  of  those  terrible  colonels,  whom  their  emperor  holds  with 
difficulty  on  the  leash.  For  I  thought  if  ever  our  great  metropo- 
lis were  in  their  hands,  how  ill  it  would  fare  with  all  therein 
that  turned  the  gerund-stone,  and  with  those  therein  that  bare 
my  hapless  surname.  And  the  name  of  these  is  Legion.  And 
knowing  that  the  comrade  was  no  vulgar  and  low-natured  boy, 
I  felt  sure  in  my  heart  that  there  was  at  least  something  right 
in  the  impulse  that  had  pushed  him  into  danger  and  disobedi- 
ence. But  still  I  was  afraid  of  allowing  sentimentalism  or 
impulsiveness  on  my  part  to  take  the  place  of  duty,  however 
stern  and  unpalatable. 

I  was  standing  not  alone  one  morning  in  the  lobby  of  my 
own  home,  just  before  leaving  for  the  day's  work.  A  great- 
coat of  mine  was  hanging  from  the  wall.  My  companion,  in  a 
playful  mood,  put  a  small  white  hand  into  one  of  its  pockets, 
and  drew  a  something  out;  then  thrust  it  back  hurriedly  as 
though  it  had  been  a  something  venomous.  And  over  a  very 
gentle  face  passed  a  look  of  surprise  not  unmingled  with  reproof ; 
but  the  reproof  gave  way  almost  momently  to  the  wonted  smile. 
But  I  long  remembered  the  mild  reproof  upon  that  gentle  face, 
for  it  was  an  expression  very  seldom  seen  there ;  and  it  came 
afterwards  to  be  numbered  with  other  sad  and  sweet  memories. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  end  of  the  last  bench  upon  my  class  sat 
a  boy  who  was  very  backward  in  his  learning.  He  was  con- 
tinually absent  upon  what  seemed  to  me  frivolous  pretenses. 
These  absences  entailed  upon  me  much  additional  trouble.  I 
had  occasionally  to  keep  him  and  a  little  remnant  in  the  room 
when  the  others  had  gone  out  to  play ;  to  make  up  to  him  and 
them  for  lost  time.  And  on  one  occasion  my  look  was  very 
cross,  and  my  speech  very  short ;  for  it  seemed  to  me  provoking 


600  D'ARCY   WENT  WORTH   THOMPSON 

that  children  should  be  so  backward  in  their  Latin.  And  when 
the  work  was  over  and  we  two  were  left  alone,  he  followed  me 
to  my  desk,  and  said,  "  You  have  no  idea,  sir,  how  weak  I  am." 
And  I  said,  "  AVhy,  my  boy,  you  look  stout  enough."  But  he 
answered,  "  I  am  really  very  weak,  sir ;  far  weaker  than  I 
look  ! "  and  there  was  a  pleading  earnestness  in  his  words  that 
touched  me  to  the  heart;  and,  afterwards,  there  was  an  unseen 
chord  of  sympathy  that  bound  the  master  to  the  pupil,  who  was 
still  very  dull  at  Latin. 

And  still  he  would  be  absent ;  at  times,  for  a  day  or  two'  to- 
gether. But  it  excited  no  surprise.  For  the  boy  seemed  to  sit 
almost  a  stranger  among  his  fellows,  and  in  play-hours  seemed 
to  take  no  interest  in  boyish  games.  And  by  and  by  he  had 
been  absent  for  some  weeks  together.  But  I  was  afraid  to  ask 
concerning  him ;  thinking  he  might  have  been  removed,  as 
many  boys  had  been,  without  a  letter  of  explanation,  or  his 
shaking  me  by  the  hand.  And  one  morning  I  received  a  letter 
with  a  broad  black  edge,  telling  me  that  he  had  died  the  day 
previously  of  a  virulent  contagious  fever. 

So  when  school  was  over  I  made  my  way  to  his  whilom 
lodging,  and  stood  at  the  door,  pondering.  For  the  fever,  of 
which  the  child  had  died,  had  been  to  me  a  Death-in-life,  and 
had  passed  like  the  Angel  of  old  over  my  dwelling;  but,  unlike 
that  angel,  had  spared  my  first-born,  and  only-born.  And  be- 
cause the  latter  sat  each  evening  on  my  knee,  I  was  afraid  of 
the  fever,  and  intended  only  to  leave  my  card,  as  a  mark  of 
respectful  sympathy.  But  the  good  woman  of  the  house  said, 
"  Nay,  nay,  sir,  but  ye'll  see  the  laddie  ;  "  and  I  felt  drawn  by 
an  influence  of  fatherhood  more  constraining  than  a  father's 
fears,  and  followed  the  good  woman  into  the  small  and  dim 
chamber  where  my  pupil  was  lying.  And,  as  I  passed  the 
threshold,  my  masterhood  slipped  off  me  like  a  loose  robe ;  and 
I  stood,  very  humble  and  pupil-like,  in  that  awful  Presence,  that 
teacheth  a  wisdom  to  babes  and  sucklings,  to  which  our  treas- 
ured lore  is  but  a  jingling  of  vain  words.  And,  when  left  alone, 
I  drew  near  the  cheerless  and  dismantled  bed,  on  which  my 


DAY-DREAMS    OF  A    SCHOOLMASTER  601 

pupil  lay  asleep  in  his  early  coffin.  And  he  looked  very  calm 
and  happy,  as  though  there  had  been  to  him  no  pain  in  passing 
from  a  world  where  he  had  had  few  companions  and  very  little 
pleasure.  And  I  knew  that  his  boyhood  had  been  as  dreary  as 
it  had  been  short;  and  I  thought  that  the  good  woman  of  his 
lodging  had  perhaps  been  his  only  sympathizing  friend  at  hand. 
And  I  communed  with  myself  whether  aught  I  had  done  could 
have  made  his  dullness  more  dull.  And  I  felt  thankful  for  the 
chord  of  sympathy  that  had  united  us,  unseen,  for  a  little  while. 
But,  in  a  strange  and  painful  way,  I  stood  rebuked  before  the 
calm  and  solemn  and  unrebuking  face  of  the  child  on  whom  I 
had  frowned  for  his  being  backward  in  his  Latin. 

That  evening,  as  usual,  my  own  child  was  seated  on  my  knee, 
making  sunrise  out  of  sunset  for  myself  and  his  mother's  mother. 
And  the  table  was  alive  with  moo-cows,  and  bow-wows,  and  silly 
sheep.  And  we  sang  snatches  of  impossible  songs,  or  hid  our- 
selves behind  chairs  and  curtains  in  a  barefaced  and  undeceitful 
manner.  And  the  Penates  at  my  hearth,  that  were  chipped  and 
broken,  blinked  merrily  by  the  fire-light ;  and  the  child  was 
taken  to  his  tiny  bed;  and  the  chipped  Penates,  thereupon 
slowly  faded  out  of  view,  and  disappeared  among  the  cinders. 

And  I  sat,  musing;  alone.  And  yet  not  all  alone.  For  in 
the  chair,  where  recently  had  been  sitting  the  mother  of  my 
child's  mother,  there  sat  a  gray  transparent  shape.  And  the 
shape  and  I  were  familiar  friends.  He  had  sat  with  me  many 
a  time  from  midnight  until  when  the  morning  had  come  peeping 
through  the  green  lattice.  And  he  had  peopled  all  the  chambers 
of  my  house  with  sad  thoughts  and  black-stoled  memories.  So, 
never  heeding  my  familiar  friend,  I  sat,  staring  in  the  fire,  and 
thinking. 

And  I  thought,  sadly  and  almost  vindictively,  of  the  dreary 
years  of  my  own  early  boyhood,  with  their  rope  of  sand,  and 
the  mill-wheel  that  had  ground  no  corn.  And  I  remembered 
how  at  times  there  would  come  to  me  in  my  exile  the  sound  of 
my  brother's  laugh,  and  the  sweeter  music  of  my  mother's  voice. 
But  I  remembered,  thankfully,  that  through  years  of  monotonous 


602  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

work  and  rough  usage  I  had  enjoyed  sound  health,  and  had  had 
companions  with  whom  I  had  walked  and  talked,  and  romped 
and  fought,  cheerily. 

And  I  wondered  whether  I  should  be  spared  to  see  my  own 
child  grow  to  be  a  merry  and  frank-hearted  little  fellow;  to 
hear  the  music  of  his  ringing  laugh ;  to  see  his  face  flushed  with 
rude  but  healthful  sport ;  to  hear  of  him  as  beloved  for  many 
boyish  virtues,  and  reproved,  not  unlovingly,  for  his  share  of 
boyish  faults.  And  I  longed  to  be  climbing  with  him  the  hill 
of  difficulty,  and  lightening  the  ascent  for  him  with  varied  con- 
verse ;  resting  now  and  then  to  look  down  upon  the  valley,  or 
to  let  him  gather  blue-bells  that  grew  on  the  hillside. 

And  then  I  thought  of  a  boy  who  had  sat  of  late  on  the  last 
bench  in  my  class-room,  with  a  timid  and  scared  look,  beside 
his  bluff  and  bold  companions ;  who  had  stood  in  the  noisy 
play -ground,  lonely  .as  in  a  wilderness ;  whom  I  had  seen  that 
afternoon  in  his  early  coffin,  with  the  seal  upon  his  forehead  of 
everlasting  peace — the  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding. 

So  I  determined — from  the  recollections  of  my  own  dreary 
boyhood  ;  for  the  mild  reproof  that  once  had  clouded  momently 
very  gentle  eyes ;  for  the  love  I  bear  my  own  little  one ;  and  for 
the  calm  and  unrebuking  face  I  had  seen  that  afternoon — that 
I  would  do  as  little  as  possible  in  the  exercise  of  my  stern  duties 
to  make  of  life  a  weariness  to  young  children ;  and  especially  to 
such  as  should  be  backward  in  their  Latin. 

XXIV 

THE  PRESSURE  OF  GENTLENESS 

A  close  relation  of  my  own  was  for  twelve  years  an  officer  in 
almost  the  severest  of  all  continental  services.  In  that  chivalric 
army  is  conserved  a  traditional  discipline  whose  details  would 
appall  a  democrat,  and  the  exactions  of  which  could  only  be 
endured  by  an  obedient  and  military  race.  He  tells  me  that, 
in  his  long  experience,  he  only  met  with  one  captain  who,  in 
dealing  with  his  company,  avowedly  ignored  all  means  of  phys- 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  603 

ical  coercion.  On  this  captain's  breast  were  the  orders  of  two 
kingdoms  and  two  empires.  After  one  well-fought  day  he  had 
been  voted  by  acclamation  as  a  candidate  for  the  Order  of  the 
Iron  Crown,  which  he  would  have  obtained  had  he  added  his 
own  signature  to  those  of  all  his  brother  officers ;  and  yet  so  soft- 
hearted was  this  chevalier  sans  peur1  that  any  slattern  beggar- 
woman  could  draw  from  him  an  ill-spared  florin.  In  a  village 
where  a  portion  of  the  regiment  were  once  quartered,  the  good 
cure,2  at  the  close  of  a  sermon  on  Christian  character,  told  his 
flock  that  if  they  wished  to  see  Christianity  in  action,  they 
might  see  it  in  a  captain  of  Grenadiers,  who  clothed  their 
poorest  children  with  his  pocket-money,  and  whose  closest  com- 
panion was  ignorant  of  his  good  deeds.  This  captain's  company 
was  noted  as  being  the  best  dressed  and  the  best  conducted  in 
the  regiment.  There  were  at  Solferino  (and  there  are,  alas ! 
such  cases  in  all  engagements)  cases  of  gallant  but  stern  officers 
that  fell  by  a  traitorous  bullet  from  behind.  There  was  not  one 
man  in  the  company  of  this  captain  that  would  not  have  taken 
in  his  stead  a  bullet  aimed  at  him  from  the  front. 

A  year  and  a  half  ago  I  met  in  Yorkshire  an  invalid  young 
sailor.  From  his  smooth  face,  short  stature,  and  attenuated 
form,  I  should  have  taken  him  for  a  senior  midshipman.  To 
my  complete  astonishment  I  found  he  was  commander  of  a 
Pacific  liner,  with  a  numerous  crew  under  his  orders,  and  in 
receipt  of  a  splendid  income.  He  had  been  third  in  command, 
when  the  two  seniors  had  taken  fever,  and  his  gallantry  under 
trying  circumstances  of  all  kinds  had  procured  his  unusually 
early  promotion.  I  discussed  with  him  the  theory  of  discipline. 
He  considered  physical  chastisement  as  brutal ;  swearing  as  un- 
Christian  ;  and  hectoring  as  unmanly.  "  The  man  who  cannot 
control  himself  is  not  fit  to  command  a  crew,"  he  said,  tritely 
and  truly.  I  looked  in  wonder  at  this  shrimp  of  a  man,  that 
was  speaking  with  such  calm  confidence.  "  I  never,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  raise  my  voice  above  its  usual  tone  to  enforce  an 
order."  He  was  worn  to  skin  and  bone  by  a  chest  disorder  of 
1  a  knight  without  fear  s  curate 


604  D'ARCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

long  continuance,  which  he  considered  would  close  his  life  at 
no  distant  date.  I  could  have  pushed  him  over  with  a  rude 
jostle  of  my  elbow.  But  there  was  something  in  his  face  that 
told  you  unmistakably  he  was  not  the  man  with  whom  to  take 
a  liberty.  He  gave  me  a  remarkable  anecdote  of  himself.  His 
ship  was  alongside  of  an  American  liner  in  the  Liverpool  docks. 
The  Yankee  captain  was  dining  with  him,  and  the  conversation 
fell  upon  the  means  of  maintaining  order  in  a  crew.  The 
Yankee  scouted  all  means  but  the  stick.  He  and  his  mates 
used  on  principle  the  most  brutal  means  of  coercion.  During 
their  argument  the  steward  came  to  announce  that  the  English 
crew  were  fighting  the  Yankees  on  the  neighboring  vessel. 
The  captains  went  on  deck,  and  the  Englishman,  slinging  him- 
self by  a  rope,  alighted  in  the  midst  of  an  uproarious  crowd. 
"  Well,  my  men,"  said  he,  "  so  you  are  making  beasts  of  your- 
selves, and  disgracing  your  captain."  And  the  big  fellows 
slunk  off  without  a  word  to  their  own  vessel,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  ringleaders  were  set  for  an  hour  or  two  to  swab  the  decks. 
But  of  the  quarreling  tars  there  was  not  a  man  but  could  have 
lifted  his  wee  captain  and  dropped  him  overboard  without  an 
effort.  I  trust  to  God  he  may  yet  be  living,  and  may  long  be 
spared,  as  a  specimen  of  a  quiet,  resolute  English  Christian 
skipper. 

My  chiefest  friend  at  school  was  a  man  of  widest  mental 
culture,  of  even  temper,  and  of  sound  judgment.  Among  his 
friends  and  my  own  at  Trinity  I  knew  a  few  men  of  a  similarly 
high  stamp.  I  remember  one  man,  in  particular,  in  whom  the 
scholar  and  the  Christian  so  curiously  blended,  that  it  would 
be  difficult .  to  say  where  his  Latin  ended  and  his  religion 
began.  He  was  a  spiritual  and  mental  merman.  But  if  I 
were  called  upon  to  name  the  Aristides  of  my  life-acquaintance, 
I  should  name  a  man  whom  I  never  knew  till  I  had  crossed 
the  Tweed.  I  believe  it  would  be  as  hard  to  warp  a  Carlyle 
into  sentimental  or  religious  cant,  and  a  prophet-Gumming  into 
common-sense  and  modesty,  as  to  twist  the  nature  of  my  friend 
into  petty  words  or  illiberal  action. 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  605 

He  was  once  the  superintendent  of  a  public  educational  insti- 
tution. He  had  been  present  one  day  in  the  drill-ground, 
where  an  honest  sergeant  with  a  good  deal  of  superfluous 
bluster  was  putting  a  little  regiment  through  its  facings. 
When  the  boys  were  dismissed  the  sergeant  approached  his 
superior,  and  said :  "  Excuse  the  liberty,  sir ;  but  really,  when 
you  are  more  used  to  boys,  you'll  find  that  you  must  put  more 
pepper  into  what  you  do  and  say."  "  Well,"  said  my  friend, 
"  every  man  has  his  own  way ;  for  my  own  part,  I  don't  believe 
in  pepper." 

A  few  weeks  afterwards  the  principal  was  in  his  library, 
when  the  sergeant  was  ushered  in.  "  I've  come,  sir,"  said  the 
latter,  "  to  ask  a  favor.  Those  boys  are  a  little  troublesome  at 
times.  If  you'd  t)e  kind  enough  just  to  stand  at  your  drawing- 
room  window  for  a  few  minutes  when  drill  was  going  on,  it 
would  do  a  deal  of  good ;  if  you'd  only  stand  for  a  few  minutes, 
reading  a  newspaper." 

Ah !  worthy  sergeant,  your  pepper  won't  do,  after  all.  No, 
friend,  keep  it  for  your  vegetables,  and  use  it  then  in  modera- 
tion. 

I  hold  that  men  may  be  called  of  God  to  more  offices  than 
the  holy  one  of  the  Christian  ministry.  There  was  an  under- 
officer  at  my  old  school,  who  to  me  seemed  always  to  partake 
largely  of  some  of  the  finest  attributes  of  the  gentleman.  He 
had  failed,  through  continued  ill-health,  in  business  as  a  book- 
seller, and  was  a  well-read  man.  He  was  uniformly  civil  and 
respectful  to  us  senior  scholars;  but,  while  we  could  tip  and 
bribe  others,  we  could  never  venture  on  the  liberty  of  an  un- 
adorned surname  with  him.  This  man  was  called  to  the 
humble  office  of  maintaining  order  in  the  school-yard.  So 
there  are  men  called  to  command  men  on  the  field  of  battle, 
and  boys  in  the  schoolroom.  I  have  met  with  a  schoolmaster 
in  Scotland  who  could  govern  a  crowd  of  boys  in  one  room, 
though  they  might  be  divided  into  scattered  groups,  and 
engaged  in  varied  work  ;  and  his  only  implements  of  discipline 
were  a  word  or  two  of  good-natured  banter  or  kindly  encour- 


606  D'AKCY   WENTWORTH  THOMPSON 

agement,  and  occasionally  a  calm  and  stern  rebuke.  I  have 
been  much  struck  by  the  expression  of  his  opinion,  that  phys- 
ical coercion  cannot  be  dispensed  with  altogether.  In  defiance, 
however,  of  a  kindness,  a  sagacity,  and  a  judgment  that  I 
respect,  I  do  most  firmly  believe  that  the  necessity  for  physical 
chastisement  rests  mainly  upon  two  blemishes  in  our  ordinary 
school  system:  the  mechanical  nature  of  our  routine  of  work, 
and  the  crowding  of  our  class-rooms.  In  the  latter  respect,  we 
are  more  at  fault  than  our  English  brethren ;  in  the  former,  we 
are  far  less  sinning.  In  the  teaching  of  our  elementary  classes 
we  employ  far  more  spirit,  and  far  less  wood;  and  I  wish  I 
could  add,  no  leather.  There  is  less  of  a  gulf  between  pupil  and 
master.  The  severest  means  of  physical  chastisement  at  the 
disposal  of  the  latter  is  almost  innocuous.  .But  mild  as  our 
implement  may  be  from  the  point  of  view  of  physical  pain 
inflicted,  its  employment  is  of  necessity  associated  with  some 
degree  of  odium,  and  a  more  formidable  amount  of  ridicule. 
I  am  convinced  that  many  children  imagine  that  we  school- 
masters were  as  naturally  born  with  tawse,  as  foxes  with  tails. 
Did  you  ever  see  children  in  a  nursery  play  at  school  ?  The 
rule  seems  to  be  for  the  elder  brother  to  play  our  part ;  and  that 
part  is  limited  to  the  fun  or  business  of  flogging  all  his  little 
sisters. 

We  have  gone  a  great  way  already  in  Scotland  in  the  way  of 
civilized  teaching,  in  forbearing  to  use  an  instrument  of  acute 
pain  and  an  instrument  of  indecent  brutality.  Let  us  make  a 
further  advance,  and  if  we  can  invent  some  intellectual  and 
moral  substitute  for  our  ridiculous  scourges,  let  us  send  the 
latter  in  bundles  to  the  public  schools  of  England,  to  be  there 
adopted  when  their  system  is  sufficiently  ripened  by  a  few 
extra  centuries  of  Christianity.  Let  us  clothe  their  scholastic 
nakedness  with  the  last  rags  of  our  barbarism.  Our  boys  will 
be  none  the  less  manly  and  respectful.  Flogging  can  never 
instil  courage  into  a  child,  but  it  has  helped  to  transform  many 
an  one  into  a  sneak.  And  sneakishness  is  a  vice  more  hard  to 
eradicate  than  obduracy.  So  far  from  curing  an  ill-conditioned 


DAT-DREAMS   OF  A   SCHOOLMASTER  607 

boy  of  rude  and  vulgar  ways,  it  is  calculated  rather  to  render 
inveterate  in  him  a  distaste  for  study,  and  a  solid  hatred  of  our 
craft. 

Let  us  be  less  careful  of  the  mere  number  of  our  classes,  and 
more  careful  of  their  intellectual  culture.  Let  us  care  more  for 
what  we  think  of  ourselves,  than  what  the  public  think  of  us. 
The  respect  of  others  follows  upon  self-respect.  Let  us  not  care 
to  be  called  of  men,  Rabbi,  Rabbi.  Let  us  be  content  with 
classes  of  limited  numbers,  every  member  of  which  can  keep 
pace  with  a  properly  advancing  curriculum.  Let  us  aim  at  a 
broad  and  invigorating  culture,  not  a  narrow  and  pedantic 
one ;  let  us  ignore  examinations  of  College  or  Civil  service,  and 
aim  only  at  the  great  and  searching  examination  of  actual  life- 
Let  our  aims  be  high  and  generous,  irrespective  of  the  exactions 
of  unreasoning  parents  and  well-meaning  but  unqualified  inter- 
meddlers  ;  let  our  means  of  coercion  be  dignified,  in  spite  of  the 
trials  to  which  our  tempers  may  be  exposed.  Let  us  endeavor 
to  make  our  pupils  love  their  work  without  fearing  us.  They 
may  live — God  knows — to  love  us.  Whether  they  ever  love  us 
or  not  perhaps  matters  but  little,  if  we  do  our  work  single- 
heartedly.  The  mens  conscia  recti 1  is  of  itself  no  mean  reward. 
I  am,  perhaps,  an  enthusiast ;  but  I  have  an  idea  that,  ere  a 
generation  is  passed  away,  the  last  sound  of  the  last  tawse  will 
be  heard  in  the  leading  grammar-schools  of  Scotland.  Her 
scholars  will  be  none  the  worse  taught,  and  her  schoolmasters 
none  the  less  respected,  when  instruction  has  been  made  less 
rugged  in  her  aspect,  and  discipline  is  maintained  by  the  more 
than  hydraulic  pressure  of  a  persistent  and  continuous  gentle- 
ness. 

And,  O  brother  schoolmaster,  remember  evermore  the  exceed- 
ing dignity  of  our  calling.  It  is  not  the  holiest  of  all  callings ; 
but  it  runs  near  and  parallel  to  the  holiest.  The  lawyer's  wits 
are  sharpened,  and  his  moral  sense  not  seldom  blunted,  by  a 
life-long  familiarity  with  ignorance,  chicanery,  and  crime.  The 
physician,  in  the  exercise  of  a  more  beneficent  craft,  is  sad- 

1  mind  conscious  of  right 


608  D'ARCY   WENT  WORTH  THOMPSON 

dened  continually  by  the  spectacle  of  human  weakness  and 
human  pain.  We  have  usually  to  deal  with  fresh  and  unpol- 
luted natures.  A  noble  calling,  but  a  perilous !  We  are  dress- 
ers in  a  moral  and  mental  vineyard.  We  are  undershepherds 
of  the  Lord's  little  ones ;  and  our  business  it  is  to  lead  them 
into  green  pastures,  by  the  sides  of  refreshing  streams.  Let  us 
into  our  linguistic  lessons  introduce  cunningly  and  impercepti- 
bly all  kinds  of  amusing  stories;  stories  of  the  real  kings  of 
earth,  that  have  reigned  in  secret,  crownless  and  unsceptred ; 
leaving  the  vain  show  of  power  to  gilded  toy-kings  and  make- 
believe  statesmen ;  of  the  angels  that  have  walked  the  earth  in 
the  guise  of  holy  men  and  holier  women ;  of  the  seraph-sing- 
ers, whose  music  will  be  echoing  forever ;  of  the  cherubim  of 
power,  that  with  the  mighty  wind  of  conviction  and  enthusiasm 
have  winnowed  the  air  of  pestilence  and  superstition. 

Yes,  friend,  throw  a  higher  poetry  than  all  this  into  your 
linguistic  work ;  the  poetry  of  pure  and  holy  motive.  Then, 
in  the  coming  days,  when  you  are  fast  asleep  under  the  green 
grass,  they  will  not  speak  lightly  of  you  over  their  fruit  and 
wine,  mimicking  your  accent,  and  retailing  dull,  insipid  boy- 
pleasantries.  Enlightened  by  the  experience  of  fatherhood, 
they  will  see  with  a  clear  remembrance  your  firmness  in  deal- 
ing with  their  moral  faults,  your  patience  in  dealing  with  their 
intellectual  weakness.  And,  calling  to  mind  the  old  school- 
room, they  will  think :  "  Ah !  it  was  good  for  us  to  be  there. 
For,  unknown  to  us,  were  made  therein  three  tabernacles ;  one 
for  us,  and  one  for  our  schoolmaster,  and  one  for  Him  that 
is  the  Friend  of  all  children,  and  the  Master  of  all  school- 
masters." 

Ah  !  believe  me,  brother  mine,  where  two  or  three  children 
are  met  together,  unless  He,  who  is  the  Spirit  of  gentleness,  be 
in  the  midst  of  them,  then  our  Latin  is  but  sounding  brass, 
and  our  Greek  a  tinkling  cymbal. 


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